


That Hole in Your Life

by thatotherperv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adults Seducing Minors, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Babysitting, Barebacking, Car Sex, F/M, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Love Triangles, Open Marriage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn Watching, Prostate Massage, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-07
Updated: 2007-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy is the 16-year-old babysitter for Spike and Dru, who have an open marriage.  Dru encourages her husband to go after her, and he thinks this is a great idea until things start to go a little wonky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=thatotherperv&keyword=That%20Hole%20in%20Your%20Life%20S%2FB%20human%20AU&filter=all).
> 
> [NOTE 8/28/07]: after nearly a year of nothing additional being written beyond chapter 12, I came to the conclusion that this fic was never going to actually be completed, for a variety of reasons. I opted to share the remaining pieces I had written, and explain where the story *would* have gone, because folks expressed interest and I know sometimes that’s all I can ask for if someone decides to abandon a fic. I just want to know where it was *supposed* to go, especially if I have no ferking clue where the author was going. this was definitely one of those fics. I know, because everyone kept saying to me...where the ferk is this going?
> 
> anyway, when it started off it was supposed to be a pwp. turned into something angsty as hell and just as star-crossed. there's lots of porn, if you're up for that kind of thing, and a resolution of sorts in that I tell you where I was supposed to go with it. it was never completed properly. just thought I'd tell you that up-front]

Spike leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching the blond’s pert little ass wriggle beneath a pair of red cotton shorts with the brand name across the seat. It was an _invitation_ for staring, when you had words written all over the thing and the waistband rolled up so that you could almost-not-quite spot the curve of a lush cheek beneath the hem.

The girl puttered around the sunny kitchen, preparing a meal. She was gorgeous: golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, skin still creamy from the long winter, cheeks tinged a healthy pink from the first warm days of the season. Had a fabulous little body, her form slender and muscular with youth. A white tank top clung to her full breasts that were perky enough to move freely without restraint of a bra. A gurgling tow-headed baby, his baby, was balanced on her hip comfortably as she moved about, murmuring happily to him and tickling his pudgy belly when her other hand was free.

Spike was a lucky sod.

“You must be Buffy then,” he said and smirked as she spun on her heel gasping, pressing her hand to her bare breastbone in surprise.

“God! You scared me, I didn’t realize anyone was here.” She smiled at him conciliatorily and bounced Jackson on her hip, soothing him. Her breasts jiggled freely, and she was so unself-conscious about the movement that he wondered if she even knew it happened, much less that it enticed him.

“Dru didn’t tell you I work from home?”

“Um…Mrs. Turner didn’t really say, she just told me that you needed someone to watch the baby all summer and that you guys wanted to try me out in the afternoons until my school year was done.”

He nodded. She was being kind. Dru was a rather flaky mother, and probably hadn’t said even that much before she dashed off to the office. He always teased her that if the boy was to survive to puberty, the onus was on him to see to the details. It’s not that his Dru didn’t love the tot, in her way…she just had a short attention span, her mind flitting from one thing to another at an often dizzying rate. Which made her a powerhouse in the advertising business, and she had quickly risen to the top of a leading firm. But he was pretty sure she could (should) never go it _alone_ with Jackson, just to be safe. She’d never even been able to keep one of their bloody _parakeets_ alive.

“Well, you won’t see Dru much at all, really, she works long hours. I work from home, write a spot of fiction in my office upstairs,” he informed her, stretching out his arms towards his son. She handed him over. “But I need someone to look after the boy when I’m working or I’d never get anything done.”

The man turned his attention on the baby, beaming and tickling him and saying in a silly baby voice, “Would I? No, I wouldn’t!” Buffy’s stomach fluttered. He nibbled on the boy’s fingers and hefted him up to press a sherbet to the dough-boy tummy, and the baby hiccup-giggled. She hadn’t thought the guy could get any hotter than when she turned and saw him studying her, but this—seeing him so obviously enamored of Jackson—this was hotter.

And he _definitely_ didn’t need any help in that department. Buffy had always thought there were two categories of hot men. There were your every day hot men, the ones you met and saw in the flesh. You know, the ones whose smiles made your heart beat a little faster, but they still seemed…touchable. And then there were your celebrity hot men, and they were a whole other caliber. They were the swoon-worthy kind you worshipped from afar and never really believed for a second you’d get the chance to lay a hand on. Except in your (very vivid) fantasies.

Mr. Turner was definitely celebrity-hot and it made her blood pump faster in her veins. She’d never actually, you know, _encountered_ one of those before. He gave ‘good bone structure’ a whole new meaning. High, clearly defined cheekbones, a strong jaw, full pink lips. It was so very trashy romance novel that it was embarrassing, but his features were, like, chiseled. And his bleached blond hair and all-black ensemble made him look just dangerous enough to be incredibly hot, which was ridiculous since he stood there cooing at his baby like an attentive father. His eyes. Were the most _amazing_ blue.

Color her swooned.

He turned those blue eyes towards her and all thinking capacity left the building. God, how vapid was she? She just wanted to giggle. “Name’s Spike, by the way.” Buffy just stared at his extended hand, fingernails coated in chipping black polish. Suddenly she realized she was spazzing, and that he was watching her with a wry grin, eyebrows lifted in amusement. She shook herself out of it and took his hand, and it was soft and warm and firm and his fingers caressed hers a little. God, of course they didn’t. She was losing it.

Wait…Spike. Spike Turner. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh. My. GOD!” she exclaimed, too excited to be ashamed of the edge of hysteria in her voice. “Oh my god, you’re Spike Turner.” He wasn’t just celebrity-hot, he was an _actual_ celebrity. His lips quirked up in a grin that made her palms a little moist.

Spike basked in the recognition. She was babbling animatedly about one or another of his horror novels and how everyone in school worshipped him and now she was standing in his kitchen and who would have thought…. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, from enthusiastic young fans everywhere. Damn straight, he was worshipped. His sales were only eclipsed in the genre by that King wanker, and at least his stuff had some bleedin’ subtlety. His fragile writer’s ego lapped up the naked adoration…especially from a pretty pet like this, her green eyes flashing specks of gold in her enthusiasm.

When she finally wound down, he grinned at her a little wickedly. “Well, if you’re a _good_ girl,” he responded suggestively, and watched her blush to the roots at the innuendo, “I’ll squiggle my name in any copies of my books you have lyin’ around at home.”

“ _Really_?” she asked, clearly excited by the proposition. “I have every book you’ve ever published! Hardback!” She was endearingly fresh-faced, with none of the usual feminine sizing-up he’d grown used to. It made him want to lick her.

“Sure thing, pet, I live to serve.” She fairly glowed at the announcement, completely missing the double entendre. “Though, if you have _every_ book, you might want to bring them in stages. Wouldn’t want to give me carpel tunnel.”

She giggled, like it was the wittiest thing ever said in the history of the planet. Which would have made him feel hunted were it from another woman, but this girl laughed like she _really thought_ it was. Christ, had he ever been this wide-eyed?

“Alright, Goldilocks, take the poppet and I’ll get back to work.” She was clearly pleased with the pet name, mouth twisting merrily as she tried to hold in the full extent of her glee.

What a lovely prezzie his Dru had picked for him.

~*~*~*~

In the following weeks, they settled into a cozy little routine. Buffy had a friend drop her by the house as soon as school let out at 3. They shared tea at the kitchen table, and then he’d hand Jackson over into her care and go upstairs to write. The first week or so, he’d snuck back down from time to time to monitor how she was with the baby when no one was around, but Buffy was a natural. She was attentive and clearly adored their boy, squeezing in homework only when he was down for a nap. Usually Spike wrote until 9 or so in the evening, then strapped Jackson into his car seat and drove Buffy home.

As he’d promised, Dru was rarely home during Buffy’s work hours. She typically got in from the office anywhere between 10 and midnight, but it was fine because they were both night owls…Spike always slept it off into the late morning hours, but his girl could run on a criminally low amount of rest. Always had. He supposed there were those out there that would see the odd hours and slanted division of responsibilities and assume their marriage was ailing, but he and his dark princess were going as strong as ever. They just marched to their own drum, was all.

Yet, he grew more and more intrigued with Buffy. This little snippet of a girl was a constant surprise and amusement. Teatime with her was his second favorite part of the day, next to his time in the evening with Dru. She discussed his books as though they were of real literary importance and was surprisingly perceptive for a 16-year-old. Sometimes she picked up on elements in his writing that even he hadn’t thought of. She spoke with earnest intensity about everything from the way her history teacher taught them about the fall of the Romanovs to how gross it was that Justin Timberlake was dating ‘that old chick, Cameron Diaz.’ She was a breath of fresh air in his day. And increasingly, a source of sexual frustration, no matter how many times Dru would shag his skull empty each night.

Not that Dru would blink twice if he bent the girl over the kitchen table. They’d long ago discovered that his wife’s brief attention span extended to her sexual partners, and found an open relationship a workable solution for them all around. She definitely took advantage of the arrangement more frequently (part of the reason she was often home late from the office), but he’d had his fair share. There were rules to these things, of course, if you were going to keep it together. He knew about every single person Dru’d slept with outside their marriage, and how far things had gone. Not too many details, but enough to know the score. Transparency was important.

In fact, Dru, for her part, had _provided_ most of his extramarital lovers. She knew his tastes well at this juncture in their lives and occasionally dragged home willing victims, laying them at his feet much the way a pet cat does with dead woodland creatures: with a predatory pride.

And he knew that’s what Dru was up to in hiring Buffy. It had been a while, since he’d had anyone but her, and she wanted to even the playing field a bit. Knew how irresistible he’d find this girl and wanted to please him with her. But things were complicated by the girl’s age. Sure, he’d run with the flirtation and innuendo to make the girl’s cheeks pinken, but he wasn’t a dirty old man for Chrissakes.

Ok, who was he kidding? He _was_ a dirty old man (‘though not _that_ old, at 28,’ his cock spoke up). He’d had plenty of waking fantasies that played on her youthful naïveté and illicit age when he was supposed to be working on the next installment for his editor, and he didn’t even feel that badly for them. However, he _was_ acutely aware of the legal risk that acting on his fantasies posed here in the States.

~*~*~*~

Buffy was working on a Saturday at the request of Mrs…Dru, she corrected, mindful of their insistence that she be on a first-name basis. The woman had insisted that ‘she and Spikey needed a whole day of quality time.’ As Buffy sat on the floor with the baby, she thought of how they’d been locked in the bedroom all day and blushed. She’d tried not to go upstairs all day, for fear of hearing something she didn’t want to. Neither of them struck her particularly as the _quiet_ sort.

Not that she minded working on a weekend. Since she and her mom had moved to Seattle from Portland, it’s not like she had a social life. Not a good one, anyway. She’d lost everything in the move: her dad, her friends, her boyfriend. Her belief that the world made sense. In fact, she kind of preferred being at the Turners’. The house was huge and beautiful and full of light, so different from the cramped little apartment she and mom had moved into after the divorce. She hated that place, it smelled funny. But she supposed the Turners had money, and lots of it, between his royalties and her power exec salary. God, she’d never be this well off. She wanted their life for just five minutes. So she didn’t mind sitting for Jackson, because in the quiet living room she could pretend, even if just for a little while.

Spike’s husky accent broke into her thoughts. “See you’re tending to your studies then. Good girl.” She jumped away from the textbook guiltily, startled by his presence.

“I was keeping a good eye on him, I swear, it’s just finals next week, and I have trig first, and me and the math are not so mixy….” She knew she was babbling, but could you blame her? God. He looked…he was bare to the waist, and he was _sculpted_ and _sweaty_ , barefoot in a pair of gray sweats. His hair was uncharacteristically mussed and she realized it was curly. She thought of what he must have been doing to muss it and felt her face grow hot.

He grinned, amused at her embarrassment. Which he probably thought was from getting caught studying, thank god. “’Sok, pet, you can study. I trust you to take good care of the nibblet.” His vote of confidence was flattering, and she grinned. He winked.

And with that he padded towards the kitchen. Of course, people get hungry…after.

God, she was edible. He hadn’t missed the roaming eyes and consequential full-body blush. He had smart money on where her head had been to cause that.

In fact, maybe he’d done it a little on purpose. But you couldn’t blame a man, and it was his own house. Bloody hell, how did she make him so horny with a look when he and Dru had just finished round _three_ , for chrissakes. Which reminded him, now that he’d hunted and gathered like the manly provider he was, he’d best get back to the love of his life, the woman _of legal age_ who was waiting naked and willing in their bed.

But all the same, he paused along the way, watching Buffy unnoticed from the hall to the stairs. She was stunning when she smiled, twirling various fixtures on the stationary baby toy that Jackson lay beneath. She tickled the arch of his foot and when he giggled, she burst into free and spontaneous laughter. The sound made heat rush to his groin, which intensified when Dru’s slender arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressed to his bare back.

“You pine for her,” his princess observed quietly. “Take her, my love, I brought her to you. It’s making you cranky.” The last bit was slightly petulant.

“’S not that simple, Dru. The girl is _young_. Illegally so, in this country. I could go to jail. I’m too pretty for that,” he observed dryly

She chuckled, and the vibration made him smile. She stroked his stomach absently. “She watches you with big hot eyes, I see her. She wants you. She would give you no trouble.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, “I know.”

“Then don’t be a bad puppy. Take her. Soon.” She lightly bit his shoulder and released him, heading back to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he whispered. Dru’s special brand of logic could be persuasive at times, and her urging made it harder to remember why doing just that would be a bad thing. Made it a little easier to imagine why it would be amazing and gloss over why it would be wrong. Not to mention disastrous for his career if it made press. He lurked in the shadows watching his obsession with hooded eyes for a moment longer before he turned and followed his wife up the stairs.

~*~*~*~

He didn’t see Buffy again for a week, since they’d given her the time off for her end of the year exams. Now that his decision was made, he fairly buzzed at the thought of her impending full-time summer status.

He was extraordinarily proud of his restraint, not jumping her the minute she got in the car with him on Monday morning. The girl didn’t have a car or a license, so it was on him to play chauffeur, it seemed. Not that he minded in the least.

Over her exam week he’d convinced himself he was doing nothing wrong (in a rather stunningly acrobatic feat of will over logic), but he was still concerned over the legality of seducing a 16-year-old girl. If they were home in London, it would be perfectly on the up-and-up. Damn Yanks and their Puritan prudishness.

So he’d decided to step things up gradually, to test the waters to be sure of her feelings on the matter. He stuck close to Buffy all week, invading her personal space to reach for something in the kitchen cabinets, brushing his fingers against her arms or ribs or once, the side of her breasts, as he took the baby. Leaning close across her lap to open her car door as he dropped her off, lips just a few inches from hers, eyes locked on her own. Moves that could be rationalized away as innocent, should it come to that. But every time he touched her, watched her too long, came near her, she flushed, breathed more rapidly, held her ground. Almost as good as verbal consent to him. That time in the car, she had been right on the precipice of leaning in to press her lips to his, but in the end she had just ducked out the door like a startled rabbit.

And now it was Friday. And if he had to go another weekend without her, he’d go bug-shaggin’ mad. Time was up for the girl to make a move of her own. Dru was right, she was willing. Bugger the Americans and their law.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the newly minted title is from the Goo Goo Dolls’ “Black Balloon”
> 
> _I almost fell into that hole in your life,  
>  You weren’t thinking bout tomorrow,  
> Cause you were the same as me,  
> But on your knees…_
> 
> suits them, I think. suits season 6 spuffy as well, which is what this fic is based on, in a way.

Buffy was kind of glad, in a way, that the week was almost over. She slid her eyes to Spike in the driver’s seat, singing along to the radio with his usual abandon, this time to the Ramones. It was so cute when he did that. Don’t get her wrong, she loved spending time at the Turners’ all day, with Spike and with Jackson. But was it just her, or had Spike been veerrrry touchy-feely this week? After she’d nearly kissed Spike in the car yesterday, Buffy’d had an emergency conference call with Faith and Cordy, friends who had sort of adopted her out of pity towards the end of the school year. Spike had just been so close, and smelled so very yummy…but she’d jerked away at the last moment, thank God, because she really didn’t want to lose her job over a silly crush.

Faith and Cordy had been of a different opinion, however. “Oh, please,” Cordy had declared, an eye roll evident in her tone, “he’s totally closing in on you. No guy does the inside handle-pull unless he’s trying to crowd your space and get in your pants.”

“Gotta go with the prom queen on this one, B. This guy’s been pervin’ on you since day one. I say go for it. Find out if the guy’s got as much imagination between the sheets as he does between the pages.” 

Buffy had brushed off the advice. Cordy and Faith oozed sexual confidence in a way she never would. She liked sex alright, it had just never been the all-consuming passion she’d expected, from the movies. 

And besides, her friends had to be wrong. She’d seen the guy with his wife. He was totally ga-ga over her, still, even though he’d once told Buffy that they’d been together since they were her age. Anyway, Buffy was nothing special, would never be able to hold someone’s interest that long. Hell, as soon as she’d found out she was moving, her boyfriend Angel had broken it off, saying he couldn’t do the distance thing. That it would be too hard and they’d never see each other. Translation: Angel would be forced to be celibate, and Buffy wasn’t worth it. 

“So, pet, what are you up to for the weekend?” Spike asked. The girl was awfully quiet, nervous, and that would never do. 

Buffy shrugged. “Nothing much.” She unbuckled Jackson from his car seat and followed Spike inside, studying the unseasonably warm cloudless sky. “Maybe head with the girls down to the beach. You know, typical summer bumminess.” 

Spike got a startlingly clear image of Buffy lying on the beach in a string bikini, pale skin glistening with coconut oil. Wasn’t that a lovely picture. He followed her into the kitchen and stood by casually as she gathered Jackson’s breakfast.

“What, no boyfriend to spoil you with dinner and drive you out to the woods to neck?” he asked casually. Not that he really cared, one way or the other, but it would make things a little easier if she were single. 

Buffy settled herself at the table beside Jackson’s high chair and began to spoon baby food to the boy. She let out a self-deprecating little laugh. Sore point, then. “Nope, no boyfriend. Not anymore.” Excellent.

“Find that hard to believe,” he commented. Spike sat catty-corner at the table, gazing at her assessingly, making it obvious that he was watching her. Their knees brushed.

“Yeah. Well, you know…I just moved…” She gave him a thin half-smile, one corner of her mouth still looking troubled.

Spike smiled at her, wanting to melt that brave front away. “Beautiful girl like you, must have plenty of suitors. Bet you’ve got a whole herd of pups pantin’ after you.”

She pinkened from embarrassment and pleasure at the compliment, ducking her head a bit. How edible. “No,” she demurred.

“Fools,” he said with conviction, and meant it. Jackson was twisting his head, refusing more food. Buffy wiped his mouth and set him in the bouncing chair suspended in the doorframe. 

Spike followed her into the kitchen and watched her clean up. She had the grace of youth, even when she was self-conscious, as she was now. He caged her against the sink with his arms, body just barely brushing against hers. Her shoulders were just a bit tensed, nervous. His voice was low. “Those boys are too young to know what to do with a stunning creature like you.”

She turned in the V of his arms and looked up into the eyes that were studying her intensely. She meant to push him away, but…he was so pretty.

And then those electric eyes fixed on her lips, and she couldn’t breath for a moment as he leaned in. His mouth was soft on hers. God, he was kissing her. His lips were firm and persuasive as they urged hers apart and then there was the strong slip-slide of a muscular tongue against her own. He tasted like coffee. He was an amazing kisser, not choking her with his tongue like Parker, not vacillating between hesitant nibbles and a hard mash of lips as Angel always had. Instead, Spike kept a steady firm pressure with his tongue and lips, and now his hands were on her hips gripping her possessively. God.

He pinned her further to the counter with his hips and Buffy could feel the full denim-covered erection pressing rocking against her through the thin material of her skirt. More moisture flood her panties, and her heart was racing. Spike bent slightly at the knees and slid his warm hands up her bare thighs, gathering the knee-length linen skirt almost at her waist as he palmed her ass-cheeks and began to knead them rhythmically. She felt breathless and hot and a little overwhelmed at his directness. She was accustomed to the games that high school boys played, where positions were advanced by inches and a long entrenchment at each new stage was likely. Spike wasn’t playing by those rules at all.

Spike groaned and thrust upward against her panties, using the give in his knees to rub himself between her buckling legs. A needy little noise slipped from her mouth to his. God, she’d never felt this hot before. She was burning up.

The baby gurgled, and the noise somehow anchored her back to reality. She pushed against him and tore her mouth away to say, “Stop, Spike, stop. You’re married.” She felt a little sick. Her dad had left them for a younger woman, and here she was, pressed against him just like that home-wrecking slut. 

But Spike didn’t stop. Instead he continued those mind-melting thrusts and nibbled along her jawline, up to her ear. His voice was deep and husky and part moan as he rubbed himself against her. “Ohhh, God, Buffy. Don’t worry bout Dru, luv. We have her blessing.”

The deep vibrations against her ear sent another shock of heat curling through her, overpowering the sick feeling. She struggled to make sense of his words. “…Blessing?” she panted, confused. She pushed at him again and this time he stilled and pulled back slightly, hands braced against the counter. 

“Dru and me, we have what you call an open marriage,” he explained. Buffy was beautiful against him, all flushed and disheveled, breathing hard and frowning just a bit in confusion. “Our hearts belong to the marriage, but we’re free to sleep with other people as long as we let the other know about it.”

“You cheat on her?” Buffy’s voice was a little accusatory. Baggage there. Spike shook his head.

“No, luv, not cheating. Arrangement was her idea in the first place, I probably would have been fine without it. But my Dru, she’s…she needs the novelty. Better for us, really. Fought a lot less after we started up like this, things got tense for a bit. It only works because we trust each other.” 

Buffy’s face was smoothing out from confused to thoughtful, when an obviously mortifying idea struck her.

“You mean…Dru knows…” she looked horrified at the thought of his wife knowing about his naughty intentions for the girl. It was too sweet. He smiled at her, trailed a finger lightly from her collarbone down towards her cleavage. She shivered, and he could still smell how aroused she was. His cock throbbed in response.

“Yes, she knows.” Spike left out the part where Dru had actually intended her for this purpose from the beginning. Making a girl feel like a hired whore was never the best way to get in her knickers. “She’s fine with it,” he continued mildly. Buffy’s breath hitched as he cupped her breast through her tank top, plucking at her nipple roughly. 

They needed to be horizontal. Now. Spike grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the living room.

She paused in the doorway. “Jackson…”

“Will be fine. Babies don’t need to be stared at every second of the day, pet. And we’re not going far.”

Spike guided her onto the wide cushions of the sofa and kissed her reassuringly. Pulling away, he braced one knee between her calves, and skimmed his fingers up her thighs, gathering the skirt around her waist. He could see just the slightest hint of her white cotton panties. Spike nudged her knees apart and settled his weight on top of her, petting the length of her body with open palms. She was breathing heavily and her golden hair was fanned out against the black leather of the sofa. 

“You’re breathtaking,” Spike murmured as he nibbled along her neck, giving her sweet words that weren’t hard to say, since she was. Buffy’s hips canted up against his own as he drew his teeth over her soft earlobe, pierced but unadorned. He groaned at the friction against his hard-on, and kissed her roughly. Spike slid his fingers under the hem of her top and ran his hands up her sides, urging her to sit up for a moment as he pulled the garment over her head. 

She had perfect tits, and he’d seen his share. She was wearing a bra today, a white one that cupped the underside in satin and offered a peek across the top with delicate lace. Buffy was shifting, uncomfortable and self-conscious under his appraisal. “Perfect,” he murmured and scraped his teeth along her shoulder as he kneaded both breasts through the material, running his thumbs over the hardening nipples. Bloody hell, this girl…

He eased her back onto the couch and lifted each mound from the bra, tucking the fabric beneath them. Her nipples were rosy pink and half-erect and he bent his head and sucked roughly on one. She made sexy little noises as his teeth tugged at her nipple and he rubbed his erection against her thin panties. 

Spike rolled onto one arm, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down a little so he could rub against her covered only by his boxers, his cock trying to push through the fly. He moaned and sucked on her other tit. She was so fucking wet, he could feel the slip-sliding damp of it through two layers of cotton, and the sensation was heavenly. She was writhing beneath him, moaning his name, and he was so fucking turned on that he had a violent full-body shudder as she slipped her hands under his collar and scraped her manicured nails lightly down his back. The t-shirt was damp with sweat, so he sat up and pulled it over his head, enjoying the naked want in her green eyes as she looked at his body. 

He settled himself back onto her soft curves, mouth toying with her breasts, her collarbone, her ear, any piece of flesh that took his fancy. She drew in an unsteady breath and shifted restlessly as he trailed his fingers lightly along her inner thigh, teasing the soft skin along her panty line until she was rolling her hips against nothing. He sucked on the mildly salty skin at the juncture of shoulder and throat and slipped his fingers sideways beneath the cotton. She moaned and jumped a little, already super-sensitized when he began to stroke her clit. She was so wet. Spike slipped two fingers inside, and she was slick and tight and hot. He fingered her with increasing speed, frigging her clit with his thumb and she was keening, writhing, thrusting up against his hand. 

Fuck. God bless Dru.

Spike nipped his way down her tight stomach and kneeled to slip her panties off, resettling himself lower on the couch. When he pushed up her skirt and brushed his mouth teasingly against her outer lips, Buffy stiffened a little and Spike saw that she looked a little flustered with embarrassment. It occurred to him that maybe no one had ever done this to her before. Well then, good thing he’d had his share of practice.

Buffy’s bashfulness was quickly forgotten as Spike began to flick his tongue rapidly over her clit and finger her pussy. She had been close to coming earlier from his hand that her clit was really swollen. He sucked on it, anticipating the buck of her hips against his face. Buffy gripped his hair with a trembling “Jesus! Ohhh, God, Spike…it’s…you’re…” He resumed the circular pattern on her clit with his tongue. She was rolling her hips against his face and Spike was thrusting against the cushions through his boxers, desperately needing some friction. 

Spike rubbed her swollen g-spot inside and Buffy bowed, taken by surprise. She was so close, he could feel little contractions around his fingers and he looked up to see her flushed and restless, one hand buried in her hair, head thrown back, the other on her breast, tugging at her nipple. Fuck, this girl was killing him. She was trembling like a leaf and Spike buried his face deeper in her pussy and began to fuck her frantically with his tongue, working her clit with his thumb. 

With a sob and a gush she came, and he pulled back, out of breath, fingering her and watching her flushed pretty face as she rode the orgasm out. Spike’s hands shook as he shoved his boxers to his knees and rolled on the condom he’d stuffed in his pocket this morning with gleeful hope. The day had not disappointed him. 

Buffy’s eyes rolled lazily open and she gave him a dazzling smile. He grinned back—how could he not? He kissed her greedily, face still messy from going down on her, and she made a little sound as she rubbed her tongue against his. 

Spike settled himself on top of her, lined up his cock, and pulled back to study her with heavy eyes.

“You taste bloody fantastic, luv. God, I’m hurting to be in you.” Buffy pulled her knees up against her body in invitation and he pressed forward. She looked…trusting, and open. He had the fleeting thought that he could get addicted to that look. Then she crossed her ankles behind him, and he was sliding into her, and he forgot about it. 

Spike was glad he was wearing a condom because otherwise he’d be done already. She made him so hot, moaning and panting beneath him as he rocked shallowly, stretching her. Spike began to thrust deeper and Buffy clung to his back as he found g-spot and stimulated it repeatedly. With his cock fully seated, Spike ground his hips against her still-sensitive clit. “God!” she exclaimed, and somehow Spike retained enough of a sense of humor to snicker and reply cheekily, “Feel free to worship me all you like, pet.”

Then he coiled into himself and began thrusting hard and fast into her, and she was babbling incoherently, moaning in punctuation with the movements. They were radiating heat, slick with sweat and sticking to the couch. Mindlessly, he kept up the punishing pace, almost violent but so so good and he was close. Buffy came with powerful contractions, scoring his shoulders with her nails in a bid to hold on, and Spike shot his load into the condom. The full body throb just went on and on, until he finally collapsed onto her, limp as an old rag. 

Jesus fucking Christ. He hadn’t come like that since he and Dru were young. He and Buffy lay panting for a long while. After a time, Spike felt her body shaking and rocking against his. He looked up, terrified that she was crying, only to find her mouth stretched wide in a grin, eyes shut tight in silent laughter.

“Oi, what are you gigglin’ about?” Spike asked her defensively. At the question, a real belly laugh burst forth, Buffy’s whole body quaking with it. The utter joy and surprise in the sound made him grin, then chuckle along, and soon they were both helpless with laughter. He knew what this was, it happened to Dru sometimes. If he got her really good in the sack, the flood of endorphins was so great that she would laugh and laugh. It never failed to set Spike off with laughter himself.

Eventually they wound down, still buoyed lightly by the fit. “I take it you enjoyed yourself then, luv?” He grinned down at her. She looked sated and sweet.

“God, it was…incredible. My fingers are tingling,” she gushed, stumbling over her choice of words. Spike barked a laugh and preened a little at the compliment. Bird must have hyperventilated before orgasm, made the extremities numb. He’d done good. “I’d never…I’ve never…” She laughed giddily.

Spike stilled and stared at her. “That wasn’t…pet, that wasn’t your first time, was it?”

“No!” Buffy exclaimed quickly. “No, I’ve had sex before. I’ve just never…um…” How she could look embarrassed after what they’d done was beyond him. But she was young, he supposed. “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

Spike was a little gobsmacked. “Never? Not even by yourself?”

Buffy blushed, which he found endearing. “I’ve never, um, done that. It’s kind of weird for a girl, don’t you think?”

He was so lost in his own head that he didn’t even think to assure her that it was not, in fact, ‘weird.’ Spike had just given this girl her first orgasms. Monstrous ones, too, by the feel of them. No wonder she’d had a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Christ, even Dru, who was young when they’d taken up together, hadn’t come to him this…fresh.

Spike felt a rush of heady power and pride at the knowledge that he had made her feel something new and special. He kissed her lingeringly. 

“’M gonna go check on the baby,” he murmured, and stood up. Pulling off the condom and knotting it, he stumbled a little over his pants before pulling them up and buttoning them. Jesus, he’d been in such a hurry to fuck her that he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Spike chuckled a little at his own foolishness as he tossed the condom in the garbage and rinsed his hands. Hoisting Jackson up, he planted gleeful kisses all over the baby’s face and downy head until the boy giggled. Christ, he felt incredibly good, relaxed and sated. He plunked the baby back in his chair, and the boy squealed a little in delight at the bouncing motion. 

Spike was smiling as he went back into the living room, and his blood ran warm again at the sight of Buffy, still lying limp and uncovered where he had left her, eyes closed blissfully. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth. She looked fantastically debauched, by him. Her skirt was still bunched around her waist, her breasts bare above the underwire bra, her limbs happily thrown askew. 

It made Spike want to pick up the game all over again, but it was already getting late in the day and he had a deadline to meet. He gathered her discarded clothing and sat by her hip on the edge of the cushion. She opened those pretty green eyes and blinked at him sleepily, stretching. 

“Gorgeous,” he declared softly and pressed a chaste kiss to the swell of her breast. He lay her tank top and panties on her stomach and smoothed down her skirt. “Alright, luv, I need to go earn my keep, and Jackson needs lunch.” He smiled at her wistfully. “Reality beckons.” Kissed her. “But that was bloody amazing.”

Buffy grinned like a fool as Spike left the room. Damn straight it was amazing. Sex had never been anything remotely like that. Spike really knew what he was doing. She dressed and got up to feed the baby. She couldn’t stop grinning. 

Angel had been her first, a couple of months before she moved. He had been a junior and they had been going together forever when they finally took that step. He had been sweet and kind and gentle and it had been nice, pleasurable even, but she never came. Buffy hadn’t really thought all that much about it, just a vague sense of ‘that was it?’ when Angel went still atop her. But it had been…nice, in the best sense of the word. Afterwards they snuggled and Angel told her he loved her and that she was beautiful and she had just found out that her dad was cheating on them and the words were so comforting. And it was always that way between them. He was big and solid and steady, a house built on rock, and always gentle and respectful. Angel held her like she was made of glass, and as her parents’ marriage fell apart, she was. But then came the move, and the breakup. That hurt her so badly, that he could set her aside so easily. He had promised her forever. What happened to change that?

When she had arrived in Seattle, right after Christmas, Buffy had met Riley and she’d gone out with him a few times even though she was still heart-sick. Riley was also nice and respectful, and on their third date they made out in his car. He too was big and gentle and careful as he touched her…just like Angel. Just like Angel. It made her feel sick, and Buffy had shoved him away and told him to take her home, much to his confusion. After that, Riley always looked wounded and uncomprehending when she would duck out of conversations with him.

At the time, it seemed to Buffy that her life had been full of gentle men who promised ‘always,’ but only held on tight enough for ‘right now.’ Angel, her father, and eventually Riley if she had given him the chance. Why pretend, when it was all temporary? When it was all so pointless? So Buffy had turned around and fucked Parker Todd behind the bleachers. Parker was smaller in build and, frankly, slimey, and completely inconsiderate and way, way smaller than Angel. She felt dirty afterwards but strangely satisfied and validated, even though she had cried and taken a shower immediately after he dropped her off at home. 

That had been about two months ago. A month after their…whatever you’d call it, she’d had a brief pregnancy scare. Faith worked at the Planned Parenthood that Buffy had visited, and that’s how Buffy got her first friend in Seattle. Cordelia had soon followed, though Buffy had never understood quite why the snobby girl was friends with Faith. Shortly after that, Buffy started working for the Turners, who were friends of friends of friends of someone at the art gallery where mom worked. 

And now she was here. Playing with Spike’s baby on the couch where he’d just fucked her senseless.

Wow, she’d really just done that. But he’d been good and sweet and not too gentle, and bigger than Angel, around. And Spike had…gone down on her. Angel had never done that before. Angel had just kind of…you know, mushed his fingers around down there and she had oohed and aaahed because he looked like he was trying so hard and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

But Spike…was married, she reminded herself, with a kid. Definitely not on the market. But famous, which was kinda cool, if you thought about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy thought about Spike all weekend. More than she should, really, considering he was probably spending the whole weekend screwing his ho-bag of a wife. God, she shouldn’t think like that. Mrs. Turner had been nothing but kind to her. Had given her husband _permission to fuck her_ , for God’s sake. The whole thing still gave her the major wiggins.

“Buffy?” her mom called, knocking on her door.

“Come in, Mom.” Her mother pushed the door open and leaned on the doorframe.

“Buffy, I just got a phone call from Mr. Turner.”

Buffy’s blood ran cold. Why would he be calling her mother?

“It seems that he and his wife talked it over and since he has to come pick you up and drop you off every day, they thought it might be a better arrangement for you to just live in one of their guest rooms during the week. Kind of like a live-in nanny. On the weekends, you’d come back here, of course, to give them their privacy and give you a rest. How does that sound?”

Buffy was staring blankly at her mother, trying to understand what had just happened. Spike had asked her mother if Buffy could move in with them? What did _that_ mean?

“Honey, I didn’t commit you to it yet, if you’re upset. I told him we’d talk about it, and he said if you or I weren’t comfortable with that he’d continue to drive you.”

Buffy’s brain kicked into gear. “No! No, that sounds fine. They have like a pool and stuff. Without an apartment complex full of kids to pee in it…which is definitely of the good.”

“See, I figured you might like it there, since you’re always complaining how much you hate this apartment. Mr. Turner said that if you agreed to the arrangement, to bring an overnight bag tomorrow morning and they could collect any other things you wanted later in the week. But remember, leave some of your things here, for the weekends.”

~*~*~*~

On Monday, Spike picked Buffy up as usual. She was nervous as hell. She still wasn’t sure what the arrangement meant. Should she take it at face value or was it for the reasons she suspected? Buffy didn’t know if they were a one-time thing or not, and she didn’t want to hope for more than was being offered.

Though secretly, she already did.

Spike eyed the overfull bag on Buffy’s lap. “So you’re movin’ in with us then?” She studied him and nodded, relieved when he threw back a wicked grin. “Excellent.”

Spike saw the girl relax when she understood a bit better where she stood with him. Bugger, like he was going to let it go at one time after the staggering demonstration of their compatibility on the sofa last week.

Dru had studied him on Friday night as she got ready for bed. “ _You_ opened your prezzie today, naughty boy,” she’d tittered. Whatever you could say about his Dru, she knew him like no one else. Always could read him in a look. Spike could hide little from her.

Spike had grinned at her, unrepentant. “Best present of that sort you’ve ever given me, Dru. Should have seen, she was amazing.”

Dru smiled a wicked little smile. “She’ll keep my prince entertained for months. Summer season will be busy this year, and I didn’t want my boy to feel neglected.”

“Thanks, pet.”

“My sweet William…” She had gasped with a sudden whim and pounced on the bed next to him, clapping. “We should ask her to move in and keep you company.”

So that’s how he’d ended up on the phone with Buffy’s mother (don’t think about that one too hard, mate) extending the invitation that her daughter move in with he and his wife. Understandably, he’d left out the part about all the shagging.

Spike showed Buffy to the guest room meant to be hers during the week. It was across the hall from Jackson’s room and down the hall from the master bedroom. The room was nice, sort of feminine, with its own full bathroom. All in all, it was pretty plush. He and Dru tended to spend a lot of money on the house because they both liked nice things and he spent nearly all his time at home. Not like they couldn’t afford it.

Spike left Buffy to settle in and see to the baby for the better part of the morning and afternoon as he worked in his home office. He was wrapping up this latest book, and he sent the publisher the last part of the manuscript with immense satisfaction. Spike stretched and padded off to find Buffy at three in the afternoon.

He found her curled up in her new bed, reading one of his books, which he found mildly amusing. He’d thought they were done with that, although he supposed he _had_ promised to autograph some for her.

“Hey, pet,” Spike said quietly, so as not to startle her. She looked up and smiled. “Jackson down for a nap?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. They’d bought an extra baby monitor speaker for her room so she could feel better about relaxing while the boy was out cold. Though relaxing wasn’t _entirely_ what Spike had in mind, if he was feeling honest.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress, turned sideways towards Buffy, and moistened his lips unconsciously. “Thought about you all weekend, you know.”

“Really?” she asked, clearly pleased. She kneeled up next to him to give him a sweet, almost chaste kiss.

“Really,” he confirmed.

Buffy smiled at him a little coyly. She looked good enough to eat. “What did you think about?”

He grinned, halfway between wicked and foolish. “C’mere and I’ll show you.” He scooted up to lean back against the headboard. Propped comfortably against the pillows, his legs stretched before him, he gestured for her and she climbed eagerly into his lap, straddling his hips.

The kisses started happy and light, with an element of levity. Spike’s hands roamed lightly over her body, and she began to shift her hips lightly back and forth over his own, seeking pressure as she grew more aroused and the kisses grew more purposeful. Soon Buffy was dry-humping him in earnest, whimpering as the rhythmic back and forth slide of her body caused the head of his erect cock to rub repeatedly against her clit through his sweatpants. He released her lips and lay his head back, groaning as he watched Buffy bite her lip with closed eyes, practically using him as a tool for her own masturbation. Actually that gave him an idea….for later, but first…

“Pet,” he inquired, and she stopped moving. “Have you ever given a blowjob?” He stroked a hand over her hair to soften the perfunctoral question.

She nodded at him with clear green eyes. “Sure, lots of times.” Spike held back a groan. God bless the younger generation. Said looking wholesome as any youth might, in shorts and a t-shirt, hair pulled back neatly in a ponytail.

He ran a thumb over her lower lip and dipped it inside, actually groaning when she sucked it in to the knuckle. “Oh, Buffy, all weekend I imagined this sweet mouth stretched around my cock. Need it, pet. Need you.”

Buffy beamed at him, looking so pleased at that. She slipped his sweats down over his hips, leaving the black wifebeater on, but before she could dip her head, he gently grabbed her chin. “Are you wearing a bra?” She nodded. “Strip down to your skivvies.”

And somehow _that_ made her blush where her admission of familiarity with fellatio had not, but she complied and he found that beneath the sedate attire she wore a very sexy black bra and panty set. He’d hazard a guess that she hadn’t wanted to look as though she were trying to impress him in case of rejection, but had planned ahead in the event that he still wanted her. Dru assured him girls thought about things like that. Buffy was stunning, kneeling there in her lingerie with her hands on her knees, a position which unwittingly pressed her breasts together and up. He trailed a finger over the resulting plush cleavage.

“Bloody hell, luv, you’ve got me so hard. ‘M gonna explode.” Buffy gazed at him warmly, cheeks glowing a little with the compliment. Then she crawled between his thighs, took him in hand, and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.

“Aahhh, God Buffy, that’s good,” he breathed, watching her cheeks cave as she applied suction, swirled her tongue and then dipped it into his slit. He lifted his hand and wrapped it loosely around her ponytail, nudging subtly and she instantly responded, sliding more of his length into that wet suction. Spike banged his head back against the headboard a little.

“God, kitten, that’s so good. Your mouth…such a good girl, you are….” He babbled continuously, mindlessly. Her pretty pink mouth was stretched tight around his girth, just as he’d imagined, and she was bobbing on the top half of his cock, the head rhythmically poking against the inside of her cheek. Spike wasn’t sure what was more incredible, the feeling of her mouth around him or the sight of her, bobbing farther and farther down, so fresh-faced and sweet. Buffy’s eyes locked on his. She reached down with a manicured hand to roll and tug at his heavy balls and his babbling accelerated.

That’s when Buffy shocked the hell out of him by opening up her throat, and swallowing him all the way down, the soft wet tissue of her throat undulating rapidly around the head of his cock. Spike curled his fingers into her hair, coming with a strangled cry of utter nonsense and a buck of his hips. She backed off a bit, swallowed all of his cum, and then sat up, dabbing at her mouth as delicately as though she’d just finished a meal at an expensive restaurant.

Bloody. Hell. She _had_ done this a lot.

“Kitten, that was…” he lost all words. “Fantastic. Really.” She smiled with her eyes averted, shy but clearly pleased he’d enjoyed it. “C’mere,” Spike tugged at her arm and pulled her into his lap for a kiss. She melted against him, and for a moment, he almost forgot the rest of what he was about, nearly just fell asleep with her curled around him. But that was no way to reward the girl for a fantastic suck job, was it?

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Lay back on the pillow, pet,” he instructed. As she shifted her weight off of him, Spike leaned across to rummage in the bedside table. He pulled out a largish purple jelly vibrator, and Buffy stared at it with raised eyebrows.

“Wow, that’s uh…I mean, do we need one of those when we—you—already have…the real thing?”

Spike chuckled. “Trust me, Goldilocks, you’ll thank me. This one’s ‘just right.’” He laughed again when she rolled her eyes. But at least she had relaxed.

Kneeling between Buffy’s legs, he adjusted them so that her knees were bent, feet flat on the mattress a good distance apart. He twisted the dial on the toy to a low setting and ran it over her damp black panties. They were insubstantial lace, and she jumped, making a little surprised noise at the sensation. He continued sliding the vibrating tip along her sensitive skin, concentrating especially on her clit through the lace, until she was breathing hard with her eyes closed. Buffy had let her legs fall to the side, so she was wide open.

Spike put the toy aside for a moment to slip her panties off of her body and ease her legs back to their previous position. He ran the vibrating toy over her slit, slicking it with her natural lubricant, and began rubbing it around and over her clit, listening to her restless little throaty noises.

Spike put her hand on the toy and Buffy began guiding it without him. He sat back and watched her masturbate herself externally with the toy. She was gorgeous and flushed, discovering herself.

After a time, Spike leaned forward and twisted the dial, intensifying the vibrations. “Ohhhh,” she breathed, and began undulating her hips against the stimulation. To his mild surprise, he found himself breathing faster and starting to harden. His recoup time had never been quite _this_ good.

He turned the dial even farther and took control of the toy. Buffy opened her eyes, gazing down at him fuzzily. “Spike…” He slid the toy into her pussy and she cried out from the sensation of Spike pumping it rapidly in and out, angled to stimulate her clit on the outstroke.

“Oh god, Spike…aahh…that’s amazing…I just need….”

“Here, luv,” Spike rasped as he placed her hand on the wand. He sat back to lazily stroke his semi-erection and watched with hot eyes as she brought herself off, whining and shuddering against the toy. Buffy was beautiful like this, her orgasm still so new to her that she looked shocked and a little rattled as it seized her. He loved that he had showed her that, had taught her that she could bring herself that kind of pleasure.

When she finally lay quiet, still and drifting in her own afterglow, Spike took the vibrator, cleaned it off and put it away. Then, grinning, he crawled on top of her, settling his weight comfortably as she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“Now that wasn’t too ‘weird,’ was it?” he teased. She laughed and shook her head no, glowing at him. And they drifted contentedly.

~*~*~*~

“Thermal strips,” Buffy snorted at the sci-fi flick on the big screen. “How the hell are a couple of little white straps of cloth supposed to keep her warm? Wardrobe was _clearly_ designed with the perving in mind.”

Spike smirked at her. “I know this pervert enjoys it thoroughly.” He made it clear that he was not looking at the supreme being in the movie so much as the girl, wearing his shirt and little else, curled around a carton of Chinese food on his living room floor. She pinkened.

Buffy heard the front door swick closed and she cringed, pulling the t-shirt over her bare legs just in time for Dru to enter the living room. The businesswoman walked over to Spike and kissed him hello lingeringly. Buffy’s face was on fire. Sure, Dru knew what was going on, but it felt _wrong_ for Buffy to be sitting there in her post-sex hair while Spike welcomed his wife home. Buffy felt exposed and jealous, and if it wouldn’t have reeked of pouty teenager, she would have run up to her bedroom and locked herself in.

Dru slipped out of her pumps and settled onto the couch, tucking her hosiery-covered feet beneath her and curling against Spike’s side. She petted his torso with one manicured hand as she turned to Buffy.

“Hello, Buffy, how was your first day? Did my Spike take care of you properly?” The thinly veiled suggestiveness made Buffy turn a darker shade of red. Dru looked endlessly amused by Buffy’s mortification as she realized that Dru knew exactly how her first day living with them had gone. God! Could she live here knowing that Spike’s wife knew everything? She wondered, morbidly, if Spike told Dru the details of everything they did sexually.

Buffy decided to answer the question at face value. “Um…it was alright.” Drusilla threw back her head and laughed with abandon at that response. Buffy wanted to crawl in a hole and die. God, could her life _get_ any more awkward?

Spike gave Buffy a sympathetic look and changed the subject with Dru. “Princess, are you hungry? Fancy some takeout?”

“Mmmm…” Dru seized Spike’s ear between her teeth and slid her hand dangerously low on his stomach. Buffy felt sick when his eyes rolled closed and his breath hitched. “Starving, my dark prince. But not for takeout.” Dru jumped off the couch and pulled Spike up the stairs. Neither of them gave Buffy a backwards glance.

My dark prince. _Gag_. Buffy felt truly and genuinely sick. She set aside her carton of noodles and turned up the volume on the conversation between Bruce Willis and that orange-haired chick.

After the movie was over, Buffy put in another and fell asleep in front of the television. Her room wasn’t _right_ next to theirs but still. She’d rather be safe than sorry. The last thing she wanted to overhear was that rough voice responding to someone else. Someone that he loved.

~*~*~*~

The whole next day, Buffy avoided Spike. She woke up on the floor that morning as Dru moved around getting ready for work, and scurried upstairs before she had to speak to the brunette. It was easy enough to avoid Spike as well, but by late afternoon as she put Jackson down for his nap, the need to see him was itching over her skin. To see Spike, and make him want her.

Buffy leaned against the doorframe of his office for a moment, watching him. Spike was bent forward on the edge of his big office chair, in jeans, barefoot and bare-chested. He concentrated on whatever it was he was writing, longhand, while his desktop sat neglected on the other arm of the desk. Spike was wearing a small pair of wire-frame glasses, which geeked up his bad-boy look in a way that she found endearing.

“Watcha doin’,” she chirped, and he looked up, pen poised. Spike smiled and lay his pen and spectacles on the paper in front of him.

“Hey, pet. Answering some fan mail. Too much to answer every letter, but my publisher sends me the most interesting ones…I try to answer some by hand, so they know it’s really me.”

She was a little surprised. “Most authors as famous as you don’t answer letters by _hand_ , do they?”

Spike smirked at her and lifted a brow in a highly self-satisfied manner. “Should know by now, luv, I’m not most people,” he rumbled.

“I guess that’s true enough,” Buffy teased. She sauntered into the room and stopped in front of Spike as he rocked his chair back and forth idly with one foot. Buffy pushed him slouching back against the chair, and climbed to kneel above him, her shins braced outside his legs. The office chair was really more like a Lazy Boy, large and wide and black leather. Spike demanded comfort in all his things.

His hands were rough on her bare hips. Buffy was still only wearing his t-shirt. She had, in fact, changed back into it and removed her underwear before coming out to see him. She knew that from his angle, he could see her laid bare beneath the hem, and his eyes lingered there before he looked up, breathing heavily. Spike began to rhythmically squeeze her hips, deep blue eyes searching up into hers. Buffy rubbed a hand over the erection in his jeans, and he shuddered and closed his eyes.

She unbuttoned the jeans and pulled them down a ways. Buffy gave his cock a few bare strokes as his hands roamed up under her shirt, then she positioned herself and slid right down around him, humming in approval as he filled her. Spike’s hands flexed.

“Christ, pet, you’re wet…so ready for me and I didn’t even touch you,” Spike muttered in wonder, thrusting up to meet her. Buffy stilled when she was fully seated on him, and he rent open his eyes to watch her. Spike peeled her shirt over her head and once again, she was naked and he was clothed. She’d have to make sure this trend didn’t continue, but right now, Buffy honestly didn’t care.

She ground her pelvis against his once and made an involuntary sound at how good subtle shifting of his cock felt inside her. Spike was still watching her, expelling his breath in little puffs, and slid one hand up her torso to cup her breast, twisting her nipple between his ink-smudged fingers.

Buffy closed her eyes and bit her lip as she began to grind herself against him repeatedly, leaning forward and bracing her hands on the arms of the chair for better leverage. Spike moaned and she felt his abs tighten against her as he leaned up and took a nipple in his mouth. Then Spike palmed her ass roughly with both hands, taking over the rocking rhythm of her body.

His head fell back on the seat, panting as he forced her body faster. “Ohh, God pet, feels so bloody good. You’re so tight,” he groaned. Suddenly Spike grasped her hips and pulled them off of his a bit, holding them in place as he began to pump rapidly up into her. Buffy braced herself harder against the armrests. She was bouncing with the impact, emitting high-pitched cries each time his body slammed up into hers. Spike’s head was arched against the backrest, his mouth open and eyes half shut, his slick bare torso flexing with the effort. He saw her roaming, appreciative eyes and grinned smugly through his concentration, tongue pressing from behind his teeth teasingly. God, he was hot and overpowering, even in his prone position—and wasn’t _she_ supposed to be the one in control in this position?

As if prompted by her thoughts, Spike surged to his feet without warning and lifted her off of him. Without a word, he slid the notepad with his glasses and ballpoint to the side, turned her and pushed her down over the desk, kicking off his jeans. Buffy’s palms were braced flat on either side of her head and he pinned her with one hand between her shoulder blades, the other on her hip. He bent his knees slightly and entered her from behind in one thrust, groaning “Ohhh, good girl…” and resumed his harsh rhythm. Buffy just hung on and babbled incoherent little praises of approval in her mind.

Spike draped his upper body over her back and she moaned approval at the change of angle. He wrapped one muscular forearm around her hips (the proper position for a seatbelt, she thought incoherently) and began rubbing her clit with the other. Buffy pushed herself off the desk a little and worked herself back against him, their coupling rough. When he closed his teeth loosely over the soft slope of her shoulder, Buffy thought, ‘this is so Animal Planet,’ and then Spike was coming in a warm rush and she realized dimly that he wasn’t wearing a condom. But then his finger circled her clit twice more and the world fell apart around her.

When it reassembled once more into a handy sensory package, Spike was still pumping slowly against her, and then he stilled, buried deep, running both hands up her sides and arms until his palms clasped the back of her hands, pinning her pleasantly, sticky, to the desk. His forehead was resting between her shoulder blades and Buffy could feel soft puffs of breath as his whole torso panted deeply above her.

Eventually Spike lifted his head. “Bloody hell, pet. I didn’t kill you, did I?” He made no move to get off her back and let her up, but Buffy didn’t think she wanted to move, and anyway, he wasn’t too heavy.

“No,” Buffy said absently, “I don’t think so…and if you did, I’m _so_ not complaining.” Spike chuckled, a warm vibration that reverberated through her. He planted a kiss against her spine and licked there a little, tasting the salt of her cooling skin, scraping his teeth lightly, and it made her shiver. Another firm kiss, this time at the base of her neck, and then he withdrew from her, off of and out of her body.

“Fuck,” he swore, and she knew he’d just come to the same discovery she had. He eased Buffy up from her prone position against the desk and collapsed back into his chair, drawing her to curl up in his lap. She fit there comfortably, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, her face against his neck, which smelled like boy-soap. It felt safe.

“We forgot about a condom,” he commented quietly, merely stating a fact that needed to be considered.

“I realized when you came,” Buffy said against his neck, pleased when he shuddered a little at her breath. “But I’m on birth control—the kind they embed under the skin of your arm.”

She felt him relax almost imperceptibly. “That’s good. Been tested lately?”

“I’m clean.” It was one of the perks of the pregnancy scare, she had the bloodwork to prove it.

“Me too.” He kissed the top of her head. “Could have been worse, then.”

Buffy had never had sex without a condom before, had been wearing one with Parker but it had broken a little, and she could feel Spike’s come sliding thickly back from her. It was a strange, alien sensation and Buffy was conscious of making a mess, but Spike made no move to get up, so she just closed her eyes and relaxed.

“Good thing I’m done with the book, because after that, I’m not sure I could get much work done in this office.” Spike laughed. “Not that I wasn’t already daydreaming of you like a git every time I was in here before.”

She smiled and nuzzled into his neck. “You were?”

“Like a lovestruck teenager.” He laughed suddenly, like he realized what he’d just said. His arms tightened around her as his laughter slowed to a chuckle. “God, I’m a dirty bastard.”

Spike was quiet for a moment. “Buffy, you know, if we were home in England, this would be perfectly legal, but here—“

“I know. I won’t tell anyone.” She kissed his shoulder.

“Good girl.”


	4. Chapter 4

That Friday was a gorgeously warm summer day. Buffy was making breakfast when Spike slid up behind her, pulled her hair aside, and kissed her neck.

“Just the guy I was looking for,” she announced with a smile in her voice.

“Really?” he yawned, still sleepy. “Looks more like you were makin’ eggs.” He nipped at her shoulder, making her laugh.

“Well…yeah.” Buffy turned to face him and gave him her best daddy’s-girl demeanor (‘and wasn’t that 10 kinds of wrong, you old perv’). “But I wanted to ask you, since it’s so nice out, and since it’s Friday, mind if I had a couple friends over to enjoy the fantabulous pool? Jackson’s pretty much at the water-baby age anyway, it would be good for him.”

Spike was charmed by her ploy despite himself. Bad enough that he was shagging her during her workday, now he was throwing her pool parties. But he was a gullible sod, and she was adorable. “Sure, pet, invite ‘em over. I think I can stand it as long as they’re all cute girls in bikinis. No testosterone but mine.”

Buffy giggled, as only girls that age do. “Who said _you_ were invited?”

“I’d say you did, when you offered to put my infant in the pool,” he winked at her.

“Oh. Right. Well I’ll tell Faith and Cordy to come on over then.” Spike could practically taste the excitement bubbling under her words as she reached for her cell phone.

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Faith, Cordy, Buffy. Don’t any of you bints have normal names these days? Like Jane? Or Sarah?”

“Pot-kettle-black, _Spike_ , father of _Jackson_.” He smiled despite himself. She definitely had him there.

“I’ll have you know, my mum named me William. Can’t help that I didn’t want to go through life with a pansy monicker like that. Dru named the baby, and she was daft on painkillers at the time.” Buffy snorted in amusement.

~*~*~*~

It was no coincidence that Spike wandered past Buffy’s room as she was changing into her red string bikini. She had sunbathed in it on Wednesday, the tease, and he’d had a niggling fantasy ever since.

She smelled like the coconut sunblock she was massaging into her skin when he wrapped himself around the back of her mostly-bare body. Coconut and shampoo and girl, and she was a little pink from the other day. Buffy had the kind of skin that would turn quickly to gold. He buried his nose in her shoulder and breathed in.

“Need any help with that?” Spike rumbled, catching her eyes in the vanity mirror.

He was hard and he knew she could feel it against her when her voice came out a little husky. “I’m good.”

“ _Really_?” he asked speculatively, smirking. “Wanna be naughty?” He slid his hand into Buffy’s bikini bottoms and brushed a finger over her outer lips. She parted her legs a little and he braced her torso against his with one arm. She was already moist for him. Spike gave her a wicked grin. “I think you do.”

Buffy made a noise that was half censure, half pleading whine. “They’re gonna be here soon.”

“We should get on with it then, shouldn’t we?” He picked her up and dropped her on the bed, quickly stripping off his jeans. She reached for the ties of her suit. “Leave it,” he ordered.

Spike reclined, once again, against the headboard and stretched out. “C’mere, sweets,” he said, reaching for her. Buffy crawled into his lap and he kissed her hungrily, running his hands over all that supple, exposed skin. He rubbed her through the fabric of the bottoms, until she was moaning and squirming in his lap, pressing her tits against his chest. He reached for the drawer and pulled out a condom.

“Turn around, pet.” Buffy looked a little confused at the instruction but did as he asked. Spike rolled on the condom and guided her so that she straddled his hips facing away. Pulling her bikini bottoms to the side, he slid his middle two fingers into her pussy. Buffy moaned and ground against his hand, and Spike avidly watched her ass clench as he flicked her clit. He looked up into the vanity’s mirror at the foot of the bed, to see her face flush below her closed eyes, her lithe frame undulating against the hand on her twat. The dual view was sensational. He was a bloody genius.

Spike withdrew and slid his hands to her hips, shifting her, and then guiding his cock and encouraging her to slide down onto him. Buffy’s eyes flew open and met his in the mirror. Spike smirked when she blushed at their self-voyeurism.

He was fully inside her now. Buffy’s hands were braced on her thighs and her bikini-covered ass rested against his lower stomach. She clenched at him with strong vaginal muscle, but didn’t move. Smiling at her through their reflection, Spike ran a tickling finger along the arch of her upturned foot, which was resting near his waist. She gasped and jerked up from the touch, then sank back down.

“ _That’s_ the idea, pet,” he teased.

Self-conscious from the mirror, Buffy closed her eyes and rotated her hips in a circle. “Yeah,” he breathed and ran his hand up along her spine, slipping up under the strap of the bikini top, and back down. Spike urged her into a rhythm with the hand on her hip, the tempo erratic as she learned to control the movement.

Spike squeezed her ass and watched Buffy in the mirror. She bit her lip, brows drawn together in concentration, and her tits were bouncing up and down beneath the bikini top. Just then, she picked up the pace, undulating forwards and backwards as she bounced.

“God, Buffy, you are so fucking sexy, pet.” Spike couldn’t keep his hands off of her—the curve of her ass, the smooth expanse of her thighs and calves, the clean lines of her back. So much skin, and he wanted to touch every inch of it.

Buffy’s eyes popped open at his words and met his in the mirror, but she didn’t falter, too wrapped up in the rhythm to feel self-conscious. It only made him hotter, to see her watching them too.

“Play with yourself,” he ordered, his voice gruff. She shuddered and her hand slid into the bikini bottoms, out of sight, but Spike could see the pleasure on her face and hear her whimpering his name. He grabbed ahold of her hips and upped the pace, slamming up into her and she was shouting. Spike could see her hand moving frantically against her clit under the thin material.

“God, Spike, I’m…I need….”

It was pretty begging, and on a whim, Spike slid his hands beneath her bikini bottoms and pulled her cheeks apart. He pressed his thumb against the soft opening that was hidden from his view. Before Buffy could even breath out a whole “what,” Spike was easing just the tip of his thumb inside the tight sensitive ring of muscle, and she yelled out as she came, both entrances seizing down around him. Fleetingly, Spike thought of taking her there someday, how tight she would be, and he shuddered and emptied himself into the condom.

Buffy sagged forward. “Holy…shit.” She laughed a little in disbelief. “That was…um…I didn’t expect…”

“This?” he suggested, wiggling his thumb as he caught his breath.

Her breath hitched. “Yeah…that.”

Spike withdrew his thumb from her arse and sat up, his cock shifting soft inside her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Buffy leaned back against his chest as he rested his chin on her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“Was that ok?” he probed quietly.

Buffy laughed. “Okay doesn’t really cover it.” He flashed her a sexy grin.

“Believe me, I could tell. But I meant, was it ok that I did that?”

She shrugged. “Did the trick, that’s for sure. I’d just never really thought of…it…that way.”

Spike kissed her pink shoulder. It held the first blush of summer freckles. “It can feel very good if you’re careful.”

Buffy held his eyes for a long time. “Everything feels good with you.”

Her tone was so quiet and earnest that Spike felt strangely as though the comment held more significance than its face value. He hesitated, unsure how to respond. As luck would have it, he was saved from the intensity of the moment by the doorbell.

Buffy squeaked at the chime. “Crap! That’s Faith and Cordy!”

With a grin, Spike shifted her off of him and smacked her ass. “I’ll get it. I suggest you change into a different suit.” He threw out the condom and pulled on his jeans.

He chuckled when Buffy blanched at the thought of meeting her friends in one that showed evidence of their recent activities.

~*~*~*~

Spike walked around in the pool with Jackson, letting the baby splash and giggle as Spike steadied the floaty device and tickled him on his chubby baby tummy. The water felt good, since it was baking out. He’d nearly burned the bottoms of his feet off getting in the pool, and didn’t know how the girls could stand laying out on the deck chairs like so many pieces of bread in the toaster oven. Probably didn’t want to get their hair wet, or some nonsense.

He looked back towards the girls sitting with Buffy. Both of them were brunette and mouthy, making comments they probably thought were cleverly veiled but were, in actuality, painfully obvious. Spike thought it was hilarious, but Buffy kept turning interesting shades of red. Hell, how could he not be amused and flattered, when all three were attractive in that youthful kind of way, and Buffy’s friends were making clumsy passes at him from the moment he opened his front door?

Buffy was clearly agitated by something, and was trying to keep their conversation hushed. She was failing…the pool wasn’t that big and her friends weren’t that quiet. The wild-haired one was watching him openly.

“B, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t know how you stand it. You didn’t tell me he was such a DILF—“

“Oh god, don’t say it.”

“A Dad I’d like to—“

“ _FAITH!_ ”

Spike turned his head into Jackson’s hair to hide his laughter. God, that was priceless, he’d never heard that one before. He decided it was time to put Buffy out of her misery and excuse himself.

All conversation ceased with shushing as Spike walked over to the deck chairs and grabbed his towel. “Nice to meet you ladies,” he greeted. “Let’s make this an open invitation for Fridays, yeah?” He smirked as they squealed predictably.

“Don’t stay out here too long, Goldilocks. Ruin your weekend if you get all burnt to a crisp.” Spike tugged on one of Buffy’s braided pigtails as he walked by, and she grinned.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Faith smacked Buffy’s arm. “You total slut! You’re fucking the horror novelist!”

“No! There’s nothing….”

“Oh, _please_ , like it wasn’t _so_ obvious to all of us who have eyes,” Cordelia broke in. “Have you completely slipped your hold on reality? He is _married_. With a son, who you were hired to watch.”

Buffy didn’t see the point in denying it, when they wouldn’t believe her anyway. “She knows.”

Cordy and Faith both looked at her blankly. “Let me be the first to say, what?” Cordy asked, all attitude.

“They have an open marriage. They sleep with other people. His wife knows.”

Faith stared at Buffy strangely and then began to nod her head, breaking out in a smile and looking psyched at the idea.

Cordelia looked around uncomfortably as she tried to make sense of the information. “Huh. Interesting. So…Interesting.”

“Don’t be such a prude, Princess. I say, hell yeah. He’s great in the sack, I bet.”

Buffy blushed. “Um, yeah.”

“Do you do it every day?” God, Buffy cursed the day Faith was made so forward and curious.

“Pretty much.”

“Man, and they pay you. That’s kinda like…”

“DON’T even say it, or I _will_ kick your ass.”

“Well for the record, I wouldn’t mind a ride on the married merry-go-round, so…”

“ _God_ , Faith, you are so trashy.”

“Hey, I’m not the one fucking my married boss while I’m supposed to be burping his kid.”

~*~*~*~

Spike threw another sidelong glance to Buffy in the passenger seat. She had been quiet and fidgety the whole drive to her mother’s apartment. She started to speak a couple of times, but would then shake her head and go mute, staring out the window.

“Spill it, sweets.” Buffy jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Uhh…Faith and Cordy sorta figured it out.” She shifted guiltily in her seat.

Spike stared at her hard until he was forced to look back to the road. “You told them?”

Buffy looked panicked and began to babble. “No! No. Like I said, they figured it out. I tried to deny it but they said it was obvious, and they were really pissed at me for cheating on your wife with you, so I had to tell them about how your marriage was so they wouldn’t think I was…you know…and….”

Spike felt his eye begin to twitch from the rising pitch of teenage nervous babble. “Woah. Woah. Calm down, it’s ok,” he soothed. “They likely to tell anyone? Did you tell them not to?”

Buffy relaxed a hair. “I mean, they have no tact, but neither of them is the gossiping type. And it’s really only the three of us anyway, so I don’t know who they’d tell. I told them that it had to be a secret.”

Spike tapped the steering wheel a few times. He wasn’t thrilled they knew but…nothing to be done about it now. And in the least, Buffy needed reassurance. “Ok. Then, I guess that’s all that can be done. Besides, my pool is pretty good bribery, don’t you think?” He slid Buffy a sideways grin and she giggled and agreed, the mood lifted.

They pulled up in front of her apartment building. “So, gonna miss me, pet?”

“Yes,” she pouted, “but you’ll be too busy to miss me.”

Spike ignored the slight undertone of jealousy and grinned at her. “Damn straight I’ll be busy. Me and the Missus always have catchin’ up to do come the weekend.”

Spike glanced surreptitiously around the parking lot and pulled Buffy in for a breezy kiss. “Out you go, stay outta trouble and I’ll be here to pick you up bright and early Monday.”

~*~*~

Weeks passed more quickly now for Buffy, even though weekends tended to drag a little. Buffy found herself once again staring down the barrel of 48 hours in that tiny apartment with her mom, but since she was currently tucked up snug against a naked Spike, now would be one of the quick-moving, carefree moments.

She’d never tell him this, but Buffy enjoyed the post-coital cuddling that Spike was prone to as much as she enjoyed the sex. And that was saying something, since she liked the sex a whole freaking lot. Even so, as time wore on, the ‘after’ began to eclipse the ‘during,’ for Buffy.

“When did you know you wanted to be a writer?” Buffy’s head was pillowed on Spike’s chest, and she was listening to the steady lub-dub of his heart. She snuggled in further in contentment. Another week gone by…she stubbornly refused to think about the weekend ahead, which would bring their separation.

Spike yawned and pulled his fingers through her hair. “What’s that, kitten?”

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “I don’t want you to think I’m just using you for your very yummy body. So I’m taking an interest,” she explained. “When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”

He leered at her. “You think I have a ‘yummy body,’ do you?”

Buffy hit his chest. He was all about the distraction, and she was shamefully easy to distract. “I think I already _showed_ you how yummy I think it is. But ‘show’ is over, now it’s time for the ‘tell.’”

Spike chuckled and gently pushed her head back to his chest. She let him, pressing her ear against his sternum once more. “Well,” he said, his voice rumbling pleasantly under her cheek, “I suppose it was less of a question of deciding I wanted to be a writer, and more a question of deciding I wanted other people to read what I’d written. I’ve always been scribbling one thing or another, as long as I’ve known how to make my letters.”

“Really?” She pictured little Spike writing little stories in crayon. The image made her smile.

“Yeah. Being a writer is about having stories livin’ inside of you. Real people with real lives that go tramping around in your head, makin’ brave choices and stupid ones…”

The idea was ridiculously romantic. But because this was a no-romantic-sigh relationship, Buffy caught her sigh and squashed it. With a big heavy boot. Squashed it dead. As a handy alternative, try teasing sarcasm.

She looked up at Spike’s face. “Or getting their heads chopped off? Cuz if that’s what being a writer’s all about, you have some pretty freaky stories living inside of you, mister. Maybe you should seek counseling.” Spike laughed, and Buffy felt full to bursting with the goodness. “Anyway, that has to be weird, to have your thing be so much a part of your identity like that.”

“…What do you mean, luv?”

“Well like, for years my thing was kick-boxing. But kick-boxing didn’t live inside of me…it was mostly just about the hitting stuff.” Even as she said it, she wondered suddenly if that was true. There was an emptiness in her life where kickboxing had been, an emptiness in _her_. But with the end of her kickboxing career timed as it was, it was hard to tell…there had been a lot of emptiness in her life after that. A lot of things suddenly lacking.

Buffy almost forgot about that, when she was here in Spike’s arms. Almost. Until she left, and it came back with a vengeance.

Spike buried his nose in her hair and she could feel him smiling. “ _You_ were a kick-boxer? Were your gloves all pink and frilly?”

She resisted the urge to jab him in the solar plexus. Pink and frilly. Buffy glared up at him instead, at the patronizing look on his face. “I was good, I’ll have you know. I can kick _your_ ass.” A horny, intrigued look passed over his face, and that was a little better. “I was even teaching for a while, and I competed well. Took regionals and state, this year, but I quit right before nationals.”

Spike looked suitably impressed, but confused as well. “No longer seemed important?”

Buffy looked away. Suddenly his right shoulder was very fascinating. “Yeah, during the divorce, it didn’t exactly register as a priority for anyone.” She sat up, and he was studying her thoughtfully.

“Well you know you’re welcome to the home gym any time you like.” Buffy shrugged, and Spike’s expression shifted to a suggestive smirk. He trailed a finger down her bare arm. “But the only place you’re allowed to tackle and pin me is right here.” He paused, having a thought that was clearly naughty. “Well…on second thought, there are a number of places where that’s permissible, as long as the tackling ends in penetration.”

Buffy smacked him good-naturedly on his shoulder. “Pig.”

“You love it.”

God help her, she did.


	5. Chapter 5

“I think I’m in love with him.”

The phone line was silent, except for the crackling white noise of the two receiving ends of the connection. It was a Friday afternoon, two weeks after Buffy’s relationship with Spike had evolved to include extensive pillow talk in addition to the mind-numbing sex, and she knew she was in trouble.

“Hello? Did you hear me? I’ve fallen in love with Spike. Say something!” Buffy heard Faith swear softly, and her stomach clenched.

“Uh…yeah, we heard you,” Cordelia answered. “We were just…am I senile or did we _not_ all talk about this weeks ago? Love was not part of the package here, Buffy. The package was fucking your boss, which was skeezy, but not entirely stupid. This, this is a whole new level of stupidity.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She hated the way her voice came out—whiny and petulant and desperate. “I just…he’s so good to me, and…God, I am so screwed.” Tears stung at her eyes, but Buffy pressed her lips together and held them in.

Faith finally spoke up, and the sympathy in her ordinarily caustic voice did nothing to comfort Buffy. If Faith was being sensitive, her own personal apocalypse must be drawing near. “Buffy…you know I was all about the hot dad love, but…maybe you should end it. He already pretty much told you that all this could be was sex.”

“But it’s not!” Buffy cried out. “I don’t think…this has to be more to him than the rest of his affairs. We talk about stuff, personal stuff, and he even talks to me about the new book he’s writing and he…It’s not just sex. You guys wouldn’t understand.” She knew that the last sounded self-important, but it was true. They couldn’t possibly….

“That’s right, I wouldn’t understand, because you’re delusional. This is exactly why I thought this was a horrible—“

“Cordy.” Faith cut her off. “Look, B, all we’re saying is that maybe you’re just going to end up hurting here. Just think about it.”

~*~*~*~

Buffy did think about it. And her conclusion was, she couldn’t be the only one to end up hurting. She knew she wasn’t in this alone emotionally, she just _knew_ it. There had once been a time—pre-apocalyptic divorce—when Buffy got what Buffy wanted…fought and planned and innovated until a goal was attained. She had lost that part of herself when it became apparent that no amount of determination would bring back Angel. No amount of fortitude would bring back her father.

She would be damned if she was going through that again.

“Hi,” she chirped to Spike as she climbed into the mini-van.

“Hey, pet,” he grinned at her. “Have to go by the grocer’s on the way home, the cupboard’s just about bare.”

He looked tan, relaxed and self-satisfied. The weekend with Dru had been good to him, and seeing that made her stomach roll in on itself.

“You look like you’ve been having fun,” she observed.

“Yeah.” Spike smiled at her, his teeth looking whiter in his darker face. “Dru and I went out to the coast, soaked up the sun. Rare thing in this bloody climate. Should have moved to Southern California.” He winked at her, and Buffy’s heart thudded even though she felt anxious at the evidence that his home life went on happily without her. Some days it was easy to ignore the fact that he was married, especially since Drusilla sightings were rare occurrences during Buffy’s waking hours.

And when it came down to it, the monogamous part of her, the child-of-divorce part of her, just didn’t get it. Didn’t understand how this arrangement of theirs could exist in a viable, working marriage. Deep in her heart, Buffy harbored the notion that, in fact, the marriage wasn’t as strong as Spike suggested.

Spike laughed. “…and then Jackson stumbled over on those fat baby legs right to her! Can you believe it? Dru was over the moon that his first steps came when she was actually able to be around. Said it was written in the stars or some rot. I swear, you’d think _I’d_ be the fanciful one, as the writer in the family, but that’s my Dru.”

The pride and excitement and _love_ in his voice made tears spring to Buffy’s eyes, and she quickly turned her head to watch the scrolling shopping centers out the passenger window. She laughed with him to cover her reaction.

“Anyway, what did you get up to this weekend, luv?”

Cried myself sick thinking about you and had my two only friends tell me I was a fool. “Not much. Me and mom went to see that big summer blockbuster…the one with all the stuff that blows up and the hired assassin?”

Spike smiled as he signaled into a parking lot, and reached across the space between the seats to rub at the back of her neck casually, his hand warm and firm and soothing. “Not enough drama in your own life, hey?”

The irony was large enough to choke her to death. “Nope, I gotta import my drama elsewhere. Although watching a grown man smuggle a knife up his ass was something I’d prefer not to watch with my mother.” Spike laughed, and she felt a little better.

He threw the car into park. “Alright, pet, I’m just going to run in and pick up a few quick things. Stay here with Jackson and enjoy the air con. Although, try not to corrupt his impressionable music tastes with that poppy crap.” Spike smirked and gave the base of Buffy’s neck a friendly squeeze. For a moment he hesitated, as if he were going to give her a peck on the lips, but then he glanced around the busy parking lot and winked instead.

Buffy stared, unfocused, out the windshield after he had gone, not seeing the housewives that bustled to and from their SUVs and sedans, loading groceries. After a long deliberation, she made a decision, and crawled into the rearmost seat of the van.

~*~*~*~

Spike’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he opened the rear door to load the groceries and saw Buffy—a whole lot of Buffy—over the seat back. She felt a rush of pride when his jaw dropped, even as he pulled the door to a crack to shield her body from view of the other customers.

“Are you nuts? We’re at the grocery store, for Christ’s sake.” He spoke in hushed tones, caught somewhere between outrage and titillation.

She grinned smugly and studied the front of his pants with a facial expression she had learned from him. “You love it. Come here and I’ll prove just how much.”

“ _Buffy_.”

“Spike.”

He paused, looking torn, glancing furtively around the parking lot. Buffy could practically hear his conversation with himself: The windows to the van _were_ tinted darkly, and with the harsh lighting of the summer’s day, it was unlikely anyone could see all the way to the back from the windshield….

Buffy continued the train of thought for him. “If someone glances our way, all they’re gonna see is you sitting in the backseat by yourself,” she reassured, and grinned as she pinpointed the moment he made sense of the comment. She had him at ‘blowjob.’

Spike shoved the groceries in the back and climbed into the van through the sliding side door, checking on Jackson, who was sleeping in his car seat in the second row, as he passed.

“I must be a soddin’ idiot, cock for brains,” he muttered to himself as he settled into the seat beside her. She just grinned at him, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, as she released him from his pants.

Grasping his shaft, Buffy closed her mouth around the head of Spike’s cock. She hummed, and Spike groaned and slumped farther down in the seat, arms spread along the back of the bench. Buffy licked and sucked and bobbed and groaned around him, and one of his hands slid down the seat to roam her back and neck and hair.

Spike’s pre-come was slightly bitter on her tongue, but all she could taste was the sweetness of his words when he praised her.

“Christ, you give great head, pet. Should be illegal, what you can do with that tongue of yours. What am I going to do with you?”

Buffy’s heart buoyed at all the possible meanings of his question, even though she knew it was just one of those things that people said, and it probably meant nothing at all.

After Spike came, almost violently, he gathered her up in his lap, and all his smiles were for _her_ , not Dru. He teased and joked and promised to give as good as he’d gotten as soon as they got home, and Buffy’s anxiety idled back to a dull buzz at the base of her skull.

~*~*~*~

Spike could say one thing, the girl really enjoyed giving head. They were up to one a day now, though she didn’t always finish him off that way. Ever since that morning in the parking lot of the local market, he could hardly keep his cock _out_ of her mouth. Not that he was complaining, because he wasn’t, was he? Even in public, when his brain said ‘this is risky,’ his body told it to fuck right off and live a little.

Buffy had been acting weird that morning, the Monday at the grocery, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But since then things had more or less gone back to normal in the easy daily rhythms the two of them had developed, and she seemed ok, so he’d brushed the strangeness aside. He’d imagined that something was off, or maybe she’d just had a bad weekend.

Fucking wasn’t _all_ they did these days, of course, because Spike wasn’t a total letch, and even if he were, it would be a waste of the other uses of that clever tongue of hers. The girl was bright and funny, and excellent company.

Spike had nothing but time at the moment, between books, and they spent a lot of it together, in and out of bed. It was easy, being with her. She was a ray of sunshine in his life.

He wouldn’t really start his next book until after the publicity whirlwind for the current one was done in the fall, since a book tour was never conducive to the kind of peace and quiet and rest he required to be at the top of his game. But he had ideas, and though he never discussed potential plot lines with anyone other than Dru and his publisher for security reasons, this was _Buffy_. She was hardly going to go to the press or the chat rooms—he trusted her—and she had been a great help, an excellent sound board. She pushed him in just the way he needed. Plus, it was interesting to get the input of an intelligent reader on the front end of the assembly line.

“Kitten?”

Having wandered from room to room, Spike finally located Buffy in the shower, the outline of her body tantalizing through the frosted glass as she shaved her legs. But that’s not why he was here.

“Goldilocks?”

She popped her head out the door, wet hair dripping on tile as she wiped the water away from her eyes. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking we could go to a matinee with the tot. Be nice to get out of the house, yeah?”

Her grin was sweet. “A movie?”

“Yup. Some fluffy summer shite that won’t challenge our intellects. Sound appealing?”

“You do realize that by inviting me to a movie, you are committing yourself to _at least_ a large popcorn, small M &M’s, and an obscene Olympic swimming pool of Diet Coke? I’m a very high-maintenance date.”

He smirked. “I think your snack-food needs can be met.”

“Then you’re on.” Buffy’s beaming smile became overtly suggestive. “You know, you’re awfully dirty. I think you need a good hard _scrubbing_ before I could possibly take you out in public.”

Spike loved her slightly clumsy attempts at innuendo and seduction. They were too obvious by half, but somehow that only made her more alluring. The lack of practiced guile.

Spike flashed her a bit of pink tongue. “Do I?”

“Mmmhhmmm, and at least half of this water is going to waste. I think we should share.”

So it wasn’t what he’d come for, but it was a pleasant detour. Spike stripped his shirt over his head. “You do make a stunning case for environmentalism.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be wondering...where's the kink? I know, I'm thinking it too! it has been hijacked by angst and morals, but it's coming. in the meantime, have some soft bondage!

Spike was full to bursting with excitement about something. Buffy could see it on his face when he popped into her line of vision, obliterating the blue cloudless sky as she sunbathed. He was antsy, biting his bottom lip and bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Got somethin’ to show you.”

Buffy’s eyes flickered down to his crotch. “You _always_ want me naked as soon as I put on this bikini. How am I supposed to get a tan around here?” she teased.

Spike shot her a look full of sex. “ _Well_ ….” He shook his head as though he were dislodging the thought. “Nope, not about that this time. Come on, luv.” He offered Buffy a hand, and curious, she took it.

Spike led her through the kitchen and living room and down the hall. When he opened the door to the home gym, he guided her into the room ahead of him with a hand to her lower back.

The home gym was one of the largest rooms in the house, like it was a garage that had been remodeled. Spike told her they had expanded the house several times, and the room had a concrete, utilitarian feel to it, so that was her best guess.

Buffy had only been in here a few times before, but right off, she noticed that everything was different. The free weight stations and workout machines—resistance and cardio—had always been spread out in the big space, but now they were now compacted to one side.

The other half of the room was…. It was now hers. That was her first thought when she saw all of the boxing equipment. There was a large blue sparring mat, a standing bag as high as she was, and a rack with a heavy bag and a small speed bag.

Buffy’s chest felt tight, constricted. She was speechless. It was all top-of-the-line, expensive. Why would he do this for her? God, when she had told him about kickboxing, she hadn’t meant….

Spike jittered nervously beside her at her non-reaction. “And look in here,” he said suddenly, striding over to a box. It opened to reveal gloves and personal protective equipment. She recognized the brand—professional grade.

“Spike—” Buffy began, shaking a little. She would have to ask him to take all of this back. It was too much. But God, it would feel so good get back in the swing of things again….

He waited, now looking ill at ease, his hands stuffed in his back pockets.

“This is _thousands_ of dollars worth of equipment.” That she knew for a fact.

Spike shifted like a guilty man. “Well…yeah, but—”

“But _what_?” She exclaimed, her heart up in her throat. He had done this for her. She couldn’t…. “Why did you do this?”

His brow furrowed, part-way between confused and irate. “I thought you’d want to practice your craft,” he explained. Then he seemed struck with a burst of inspiration. “And I’ve never had any training in formal fighting techniques before. You could teach me.”

Buffy held his gaze intensely for a long moment, then looked away. When her eyes returned, she forced herself to smile brightly. It was ok—she wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. Although she still felt strange about the grand gesture, part of her was relieved that he had given her an out for turning the gift down, by showing an interest in learning the sport himself. “Okay. But I’ll warn you, I’m a very strict taskmaster,” she teased.

Spike’s tongue curled out in that way of his that always did funny things to her tummy. “And I should warn you, I was always a _very_ naughty student.” She laughed.

This was good. They could pretend that the equipment had been for him, for him to learn. But she knew the truth. He’d done this for her, before he ever thought of picking up kickboxing himself.

What did that mean?

~*~*~*~

Spike was spread out on top of Buffy on her bed, kissing her leisurely, her arms wound around his neck. She was warm and her breath was sweet, and his hands stroked back and forth from her shoulders to her elbows. She sighed against him, contented, and Spike remembered how much fun simply making out had always been. He and Dru didn’t do this much anymore.

Buffy had reacted strangely to his gift. Alright, so it was sort of extravagant…but…it had been an impulse buy, almost, when he was surfing the web. There should really be a sliding scale for these things. The amount that it had set him back was hardly…he had deep pockets, right?

And he cared for the girl. Wanted to see her happy. Spike could see the spark in her, under all the tarnish of pain, and he’d just wanted to bring that out. It seemed as though kickboxing might do that. There was light in her eyes when she spoke of it.

Spike nuzzled at Buffy’s neck. “You smell good.” Buffy made a little noise and arched up into him when he nipped at her neck. “Taste good too,” he teased.

Spike turned his head and kissed the tender inside of her elbow, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Care to try something new, luv?”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Sure. Like what?”

Spike chuckled. “You know, Goldilocks, you really shouldn’t agree to something before you know what it’s about. Sure way for the Big Bad Wolf to lure you down the dark path.”

“Mmmm. But I’m sure it will be good. I trust you.”

She actually did. He could see it bright in her eyes.

Spike smiled at her. “That’s a good thing for us, then, because this little game requires it.” He pulled a strip of soft cloth out of the bedside drawer.

Buffy peeked over the edge of the bed. “That drawer is like a Mary Poppins bag of sex accessories. What else have you got stashed in there?”

“Oh, this and that, in good time.” He tried to look coy.

Buffy eyed the cloth. “So is this some kind of kinky tie-up thing?”

He grinned at the assessment. “It is, in fact, ‘some kind of kinky tie-up thing.’ That sound ok?”

Buffy shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Spike leaned in close and murmured in her ear, running one hand down the side of her body. “I’ll share a little secret with you, sweets…the goal is actually to get _your_ boat floating. I’m easy, when it comes to you.”

Buffy smiled into his neck.

“Arms above your head, pet.” She stretched her arms towards the headboard and arched her back as she did so. Christ, he loved this bikini. She was a sight. He wound the soft cloth around her wrists and then hesitated. “Comfortable with me tyin’ em to the headboard, luv?”

“You can do whatever you want with me.”

Spike could see that she meant it…really, truly meant it. He opted to ignore the part of him that that was scared witless by her faith in him and go with the fact that it gave him an instant boner. Some of the most important decisions of his life had been made with his cock, and the thought of Buffy, tied up and willingly at his mercy—his cock definitely had an opinion on the matter. A strong one.

He bit his lip and leered at her playfully as he anchored her to the bed. “Whatever I want, eh? I’ll definitely have to keep _that_ in mind.” He jerked his chin towards her hands. “Tug.”

Buffy made a show of writhing and struggling against the restraints. “Oh, please sir, do be gentle, I’ve never been with a man before,” she simpered, blinking big green eyes at him innocently.

Spike couldn’t help but laugh, even though it _was_ a lovely image. He settled himself above her. “Minx,” he murmured against her lips, and she grinned.

“I know all your sick little kinks,” she confided just before he captured her lips. Somehow, he didn’t think so. But with this girl, anything was possible.

His palms were warmed by her sunshine-hot skin as they smoothed over her upper body. As he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, he pulled the loose ends of the two bows holding her top together until it popped off. Spike tossed it over the side of the bed, palming her bare breasts and kissing the soft underside of Buffy’s chin. She twisted against the restraints. She liked it fast and hard, but he was going to drive her mad slowly, this time. The thought of Buffy squirming beneath him, helpless as he tortured her, made Spike groan into her neck.

Spike could imagine the vitality of her youth thrumming under his lips as he mouthed along her throat. So gorgeous, she was. Warm and strong and sweet. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and she whimpered and thrust up against his hips.

“You like that, kitten?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Spike kicked off his jeans so that he was naked and came back. He braced one thigh between her legs and slid his hands up the wings of her back, cradling her rib cage on his forearms, lifting her up slightly to meet his mouth. The tip of his tongue just flickered teasingly over her nipple. She arched upward to gain more contact, but he remained illusive. Buffy yanked against the bonds at her wrists as though she had forgotten they were there in her eagerness to put her hands on him. He grinned up at her. She was pouting, but he just shook his head, brow quirked, to let her know that cute lip had no power here.

Spike would love to see her fight. He imagined all of this lean muscle coiled to strike as she wore that determined, stubborn little expression she had sometimes, the one that said she was about to do something and not to get in her way. Spike was a sucker for strong women, even ones that were down on their luck and no longer recognized the trait in themselves. Especially those, maybe. Made him want to show them just how powerful they were. Coach them back to the best of themselves.

Making a frustrated noise at her confinement, Buffy began sliding her covered sex up and down his thigh, spreading her legs further and moaning, pressing down harder for more friction. Spike’s own forehead collapsed to her breastbone. She was soaking wet. God, this woman—always so ready and willing.

Spike pulled his thigh away and Buffy’s head popped up. “ _Spike_ ,” she complained.

Spike felt warm amusement well up at her eagerness. He met her for a tender kiss. “Gonna take this one slow, yeah?” He continued to nibble on her lips until she was pliant, murmuring an agreement.

Spike pulled the strings on her hips until the bikini bottoms fell apart. Rolling to the side, he mouthed Buffy’s ear, sawing the strip of cloth back and forth between her legs. Her head fell back, breath hitching from the direct friction.

Spike sucked her earlobe into his mouth and laid his hand over the cloth, rapidly twiddling a finger over her erect clit. Buffy made a wanting little noise and twisted, quietly exclaiming, “God, right there!”

When he pulled away too soon and discarded the bikini bottoms, she pressed her lips together impatiently but stubbornly refused to complain. There was that look now. Christ, she was delicious. She was flushed and open and perfect. Despite her supplicant position, it still felt like she was the one in charge here, a siren twisting Spike’s will. When he didn’t touch her at all, Buffy began clenching her buttocks and pressing her hips upward sensually, as if trying to use her pelvic muscles to get herself off, in the absence of other options. Her eyes were closed in concentration. He watched, stroking himself. It made him wonder if she could bring herself off that way, given the right circumstances. Spike shifted down the bed and blew cold air against her pussy, and her hips jerked. She bit her lip and looked down at him, arms stretched behind her head uselessly.

Spike smiled at her and kept his eyes trained on hers as he turned his face to the side and brushed his lips over the inside of her thigh. Her hips jerked again, bringing the fresh scent of arousal. He kept up the light teasing nibbles high up on each of her thighs. Buffy was trembling slightly, her neglected clit swollen and red.

Spike sat up, placing butterfly kisses on the inside of her leg near the knee. He propped that leg on his shoulder and massaged her thigh in the direction of her knee with both of his spread hands, nibbling at her calf. Buffy relaxed by fractions. He nipped at her lower calf and she jumped, smiling at him when he smirked mischievously.

He repeated the massage with her other leg, mouth toying at her ankle. Cradling her foot in his hands, he kissed the delicate arch, and when he sucked her big toe into his mouth, Buffy turned pink and giggled in that endearing way of hers. The nervous laughter died away when his gaze remained intense—this didn’t really feel like playing.

Spike rested her heel against his chest so that he could continue to scrape and lave at it with teeth and tongue while his hands were occupied by their slow ascent up the tender inside-underside of her legs. She tasted like chlorine from her time in the pool this afternoon, and her pelvis jerked involuntarily when one hand teased at the crease of her elevated knee. The other hand continued sliding upwards, fingers running along the top of her quads as his thumb ran low, eventually dragged up through the cleft of her buttocks and between her inner lips, gathering moisture from her slit.

Buffy whined and pressed upwards at the long-delayed direct contact, body twisting and hands pulling at her ties. Spike let his thumb stop just pressing against her clit, and he could feel her pelvic and abdominal muscles contracting beneath where his fingers were splayed out across her lower stomach. When he didn’t move his thumb, Buffy ground against it, sobbing as she came.

Spike rolled on a condom and surged forward, taking Buffy’s leg up with him, cradled against the hollow of his shoulder, as he settled his weight on her and entered her, moaning at the contractions of her orgasm around him.

“Oh god,” he gasped, rubbing his face against her neck and reaching up to untie her hands. As soon as her hands were free, she was caressing him, arms and shoulders and neck and scalp. They kissed desperately, as he remained buried inside her dying orgasm.

Spike rose up on his hands and swiveled in deep, slow thrusts against her. Buffy’s face was flushed red at the cheeks, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion, and he knew the angle was good for her because her left leg was hitched so high. She had wrapped her other up around his waist, and he took a moment buried to the hilt to appreciate the depth it afforded him. She clenched purposefully around him, and Spike swallowed and let his mouth drop open so that he could draw in deeper breaths. Ordinarily they would have shared a giggle over her trick, but neither of them was playing games at the moment. The whole thing was too intense.

Spike withdrew, shuddering, through her clamped muscles and she released for him to slam back in. “Aahh!” He pumped into her hard and fast, supporting himself with one hand so that he could wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He lowered that hand to where they were joined and used it to rub at her clit as he slammed into her repeatedly, and she was shuddering and coming again, watching him with bedroom eyes. So beautiful. Precious little girl.

Spike’s thrusts became irregular as her contractions brought him close. He released her leg from his shoulder and hugged in close, pressing the side of his sweaty face against her own. Buffy drew her knees up high and crossed her ankles behind him, and Spike took her mouth, able to do nothing more than latch his lips onto her own before he was grinding buried to the root and coming.

His forehead sank to the pillow beside her head and he didn’t have the energy to move off of her, even though he could tell it was just a little hard for her to breathe with his weight there.

“Wow.” Buffy’s voice was watery and thick.

“Mm.” It was little more than a grunt, but really, his best effort.

Her voice was soft, and she was tracing delicate patterns over his cooling back. “Is it always that intense, with bondage?”

Spike pulled back and pressed a kiss to Buffy’s forehead. “It’s always that intense with _us_.”

Buffy’s eyes shone with tears and she nodded. Spike’s eyebrows drew together. He felt funny about saying it out loud, even though it was true.

He rolled to the side, onto his back and she snuggled up against him sleepily and kissed his shoulder. “You were quiet. Not so much dirty talk this time.”

Spike smiled. “Too intense for that. Knocked all the thoughts out of my skull.” She hummed and dropped easily into unconsciousness.

Spike stretched an arm up to prop behind his head, too satisfied to fall asleep just yet. Fuck. Intense was one way to describe it. Mind-blowing was another. Course, Dru always said his level of vocalization was a direct indicator as to whether they were in for a fast-and-dirty shag or love-making. But that’s because—

Spike felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. Love-making. Is that what he was just doing with Buffy? Suddenly Spike felt ill, because he knew the truth, felt it in his bones. He started to jerk up to sitting but he didn’t want to wake the girl snuggled in the crook of his shoulder, so he eased her away and sat up.

Fuck. Bugger. He looked over his shoulder at the sweet, peacefully sleeping girl beside him. He thought about her unshed tears after. Spike scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. He felt as though he’d been sucked down the rabbit hole and had only just now realized he was falling.

His stomach rolled. He needed air.

Spike eased out of the bed and into his jeans and out the door.

~*~*~*~

Spike had quit his near-fifteen-year smoking habit when Jackson was born, so he had to drive all the way to the store in order to get a pack. Night had already fallen, but it was still relatively early. He squatted down on the back patio and lit up, balancing the cigarette on his bottom lip as he tucked the pack and lighter away. It was like riding a bicycle, if the bicycle could give you cancer and make all your problems go away at the same time. He took a long deep drag, pulling the mentholated smoke deep into his lungs. He wanted to weep with that first drag, it was so delicious. Like coming home to an old friend.

His hands steadied out. He sat on the boards with his back against the deck railing, forearms perched on his knees between drags, and he busied himself with peeling the price label off of the brand new ashtray. Perhaps he’d been a tad optimistic in his moral fortitude when he’d thrown all of the old ones away.

Moral fortitude. It was a fucking joke. He had just _made love_ to a woman who was not his wife. Who was not old enough to be _anyone_ ’s wife. Who could, technically, be his daughter if he’d gotten a very early start. He squelched that thought down. One sin at a time, mate.

How had he gotten in this deep? Spike hadn’t really acknowledged it before, but there was something more going on here than sex. He’d been calling it friendship, in his mind—the sharing that they’d been doing after sex, the little outings. But now he saw…God, it was something more than that, and he hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t love, yet—but the fact that there was a ‘yet’ in that sentence was all wrong.

Spike pinched at the bridge of his nose. How could he do this to Drusilla? You had to walk a fine line with these types of things. As soon as emotion became involved, you were sunk.

God, he was a bastard. He had a wife and a kid and he’d been mucking about with this little girl. It was his _life_ he was putting on the line here. If Dru found out how serious—

No. Pull yourself together man, it would be fine, because it hadn’t gone that far. No need to go all melodramatic. It wasn’t the end of the world…it’s not like he was ready to run off with the girl. Just a minor slip, one that was not irreparable. He’d just tell Dru what had happened, and then…what, stop sleeping with Buffy?

Panic clutched at him. He didn’t _want_ to stop sleeping with Buffy. Hell, part of him wanted to do what they’d just done, exactly how they’d just done it, as often as humanly possible.

Just, not the part of him that loved his wife.

Fuck, damn and bugger him to hell.

He lit yet another cigarette, having sucked his previous—several?—down rather quickly.

Well, it wasn’t an option. He was no longer a single man, hadn’t been for a decade, officially, and unofficially for even longer than that. And for that matter, he wasn’t even making decisions for just himself and Drusilla. They had a child now, a beautiful baby boy who needed him to be a grown-up and a dad who was thinking with his noggin for once.

Not to mention Buffy. He needed to be more careful there, he suspected. Didn’t girls that age fall in and out of deep emotions at the drop of a hat? He’d tried to discourage her jealousy and possessiveness, or at least not _en_ courage it, but…he also kind of liked it a little.

Christ, he really was going to hell. She wasn’t a toy to be brought out of the box when he felt like playing. She was young and tenderhearted. Spike smiled faintly as he thought about the way he had caught her crying over that cartoon movie, Fox and the Hound, which she claimed to be watching for Jackson’s benefit. He’d refrained from pointing out that his child was not at an age to make heads or tails of anything other than bright colors and shiny objects. Embarrassed, she had dashed away her tears with one hand and explained earnestly, “They just wanted to be friends!”

She was a sweet girl. ‘Girl’ perhaps being the operative word in that sentence. He could tell that she was going to grow to be an amazing woman. There was a passion in her sometimes, a determination and a strength, that he wished he could just box up when he got glimpses of it. He didn’t see it often, but when he did, it astounded him. When she grew, she would be better than them all. It made him ache with something bittersweet for her, to see her potential. How she would flower after she had already slipped out of his life. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth.

From what he could gather, she’d had her heart stomped on quite recently by some boy named _Angel_ before she’d moved to Seattle. Boy had fed her some shite about letting her go for her own good. If Spike was footloose and young and Buffy was his, he’d never let her go voluntarily, even if she moved to halfway round the world to Ibiza. Bloody idjit.

Fantastic, now he _was_ fantasizing about riding off into the sunset with the girl. Fuck. Perhaps he needed to avoid hanging about with her altogether for a while then. She was too charming by half—she was bright and funny and she called him on his crap. Yes, if he was honest, it wasn’t just the sex.

He had bought her enough specialized kickboxing equipment to fill half of the home gym. How had he convinced himself _that_ was totally kosher? Not seen it as a warning sign?

 _Fuck_.

His scalp began to itch. That happened sometimes. You know, only when he was having a bloody complete and total nervous breakdown.

Spike had already filled the ashtray.

Alright, he’d tell Dru what was going on, see if she could make herself more available for a while. He was probably just partly missing her companionship. Nobody could drive him to distraction like Drusilla. She was the love of his life. Always had been, and God willing, always would be. And he’d lay off of things with Buffy for a while, let them both cool their jets. They could both stand to have the space if either was to come out of this unscathed.

Besides, he didn’t need to stop having sex with her altogether, forever. He just needed to quit for long enough to get perspective on the situation. Then he could go back to her with some modicum of self-control.

Spike looked down at the two lonely cigarettes that were jiggling around in the brand-new pack, and then at the full-to-brimming ashtray. The sad and undeniable evidence that he was not a man capable of moderation.

Bugger. This was bound to go well.

~*~*~*~

Spike watched Drusilla move about the bathroom readying herself for bed. She hadn’t gotten home until nearly midnight, but the routine was always the same, always unhurried. It was a comfortingly familiar ritual, one he had observed nightly for the last decade. She smelled of jasmine, and it was a comfortingly familiar scent.

Spike felt, for the first time, as though he had actually cheated on her. The knowledge was tearing at his insides.

“Princess?”

Dru turned blue-gray eyes on his in the mirror and smiled at him warmly. Spike’s gut clenched.

“Could you…if I told you I needed you to come home early for a time, could you? Would you?”

Sometimes Spike fancied that Dru could see right through him if she looked hard enough. As she was doing now.

“Because of the girl,” she observed. It wasn’t a question, though it sort of sounded like one.

Spike nearly sighed in relief. “Yeah, ducks. Because of the girl. And I just…need you. I miss you.”

Dru smiled at that, but she was still dissecting him with her eyes. “You care for her.”

A wave of guilt swamped him. “Yeah. I do.” His voice cracked, and he felt so damn _responsible_.

Drusilla approached him quietly, and lay a hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek. “My Spike. Still so soft-hearted. Of course you do, she’s a wounded little bird, and you’re a healer.”

His wife kissed him softly, carefully, and Spike felt his heart break just a little with love for her all over again. No recriminations, no distrust, no anger. Just understanding. Dru had always taken him as he was. And she trusted him.

Even when he didn’t quite trust himself.


	7. Chapter 7

In the coming week, Buffy felt that the script had changed, though she didn’t understand how or why. She suspected it had something to do with the day Spike gave her the boxing equipment. The sex afterwards had been so hot and sweet, but he’d been gone when she had woken up and had been acting strangely ever since.

He wasn’t ignoring or avoiding her _exactly_ , just…not joking around or hanging out with her. Buffy could feel the emotional breathing room between them, and that was a new thing. And Spike was scarcer than he used to be, even though she knew he wasn’t working at the moment. Also, he smelled like cigarettes all the time. She didn’t even know he smoked.

The other new thing was, Drusilla had been arriving home at 6pm every night like clockwork. Buffy had never known her to regularly arrive at the house before 10. The four of them had been sitting down to dinner in the dining room like the most dysfunctional family ever, and the arrangement was definitely uncomfortable. Mostly, Buffy just let the married couple carry the conversation, while she sat unsure of herself in the seat against the wall. What would she say anyway? She felt strange joking around with Spike in front of his wife. After dinner, Spike and Dru would retire to their master suite, and Buffy went to bathe Jackson and put the sleepy baby down for the night. She rarely saw either of the Turners again before she herself turned in.

The afternoons when they sparred were the only exception to Spike’s distant behavior. Spike surprised her—he had no formal technique to speak of, but he had good instincts, a familiarity with the dance that made it seem like he had experience when it came to using his fists. The biggest challenge was teaching him how to fight clean. When they were on the mat, Buffy saw glimmers of the normal Spike. He teased and joked and mouthed off as usual, especially when she easily dodged his jabs and knocked him flat on his ass.

But all Buffy could think about was that she and Spike hadn’t had sex for the whole rest of that week. Buffy fretted about it all weekend.

~*~*~*~

“See what happens when you try to be all sly? You’re still leaving your left side wide open for attack.” Buffy wriggled from her perch on Spike’s hips, and he grunted, arms pinned firmly beside his head.

“’S not fair,” he protested again. “Only reason you keep taking me down is you’re some sodding wunderkind, and here I am, a mere mortal, untrained and naïve. Only way a little chit like you could mrmrmphhh….”

Buffy cut off his bitching, pressing her mouth to Spike’s while he was caught in this vulnerable position. There was no way she was going through another weekend stuck in this situation. What was the use in being able to hold a boy down if you couldn’t have your way with him?

Spike’s whole body tensed up and froze underneath her. She still didn’t understand exactly what his hang-up was lately, but she was through being patient about it, so she ignored his reticence, softly but insistently mouthing at his bottom lip in spite of his best impression of a marble statue. A really yummy marble statue. She released his hands and slid her own into his hair, which was unruly from their sparring. Hesitantly, his lips began to move with her, and his hands came to rest on her thighs.

When her tongue tangled with his, Spike made a short, deep sound of approval, hands flexing into her quads. Buffy rubbed her body against his growing erection and teased her hands up his abs, stealing his shirt upwards with the gesture.

He broke away, his breathing harsh. “Buffy….” She sucked on the hollow of his throat, and he swallowed.

“Oh, come on,” she teased lightly, “You’ve been a good boy. Play with me. I’m feeling all neglected.” She swiveled her hips into his, and his head thumped back, eyes closed. “You know you want me.”

Spike muttered something, but his hands were stroking up her thighs and over her ass, so Buffy figured it was pretty irrelevant. She pushed his shirt up to bunch under his armpits and sealed her mouth around one flat, soft nipple. As she coaxed it to erection with the tip of her tongue, his hands squeezed at her ass, grinding her into something else that was growing erect. She smiled into his chest and pulled out of his hands to shimmy out of her clothing. Spike’s eyes remained glued to the increasing amount of visible skin.

Kneeling beside his hips, Buffy peeled his own sweats down. His cock sprang out, eager. She threw him a sideways glance to find him watching her intensely, hand rubbing absently over his upper stomach.

Buffy took his cock, stroking it a few times lightly. “I’ve missed this,” she confessed, and trailed her tongue up the side of his shaft. He moaned and threw his elbow over his face, and she smiled to herself over the reaction as she continued to fellate him.

When she pulled a condom out of her pocket and rolled it on him, Spike mumbled something again. Buffy pretended he hadn’t said anything, even though her mouth quirked up when she caught the phrase “the death of me.”

Buffy settled her hips over his and sunk down onto his cock, moaning as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Spike was watching her through slitted eyelids, panting shallowly as she rocked back and forth experimentally. His hand slid upward from her hip, large enough to span half her torso, fingers curled around her side and thumb stroking up the midline of her body. He cupped at the underside of her breast, thumb rubbing roughly over her nipple, until she broke the hypnotic moment by beginning to move.

The pace quickly grew frenetic, Spike’s hands urging Buffy faster and feeding the edge of desperation she felt until her whole body was taut with it. She was sweaty and feverish with exertion, so tense. She had been horny for him for almost two weeks, and it didn’t require much to drive her to the edge, especially when he was fucking her with his eyes as well as his cock. When started to bring her off with fingers to her clit, the sounds that she made were unrecognizable to her, surprised, distressed sounds, the pressure building in such a way that was teeth-clenchingly unbearable until it finally popped and broke open, the orgasm short-lived but relieving, allowing her to breathe easy again.

She slumped, panting, for a moment, but Spike hadn’t come yet, and he was watching her in an indiscernible way, stroking patient hands along her stilled hips. When Buffy began to move again, she watched Spike sink back into himself, eyes rolling closed as he bit his bottom lip, choked-off moans slipping through despite himself. Buffy traced her fingers down his abs as she bounced, loving the way his face flushed and tensed as she squeezed down on his cock. Spike’s hands flexed into her flesh as he shuddered and cried out, pelvis arched in a frozen thrust up against her as he came.

Buffy folded her body down into his as he sprawled on his back, catching his breath. She kissed his chin before she tucked her head under it, her afterglow disturbed by a slight unease in her gut. Eventually Spike’s arms came up to band around her waist and upper back, and the bad feeling settled away as his fingertips stroked minutely against her spine. Buffy closed her eyes and contented herself with the slight touches, told herself that it was fine that there were no long lazy caresses or lips pressing to the top of her head.

“My mom is taking me camping this weekend,” she offered finally.

Spike’s arms flexed and then eased looser. “Is she? Wouldn’t take your mum for much of an outdoorsman…err, woman.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed vaguely, “She wants to be all family-ee. Said she doesn’t get to see me much, so she wanted to take me somewhere where I couldn’t just watch tv and roll my eyes at her.”

Spike smiled. “Fair enough. Where are you going?”

“Staircase Falls? It’s in the Olympic National Forest. One of her art-buyers told her about it. Said it was really pretty.”

“Oh, you’ll adore it. Gorgeous, up that way. You two will have a fantastic time. Clear out the cobwebs.” His enthusiasm for the place felt exaggerated, which only intensified Buffy’s feelings of strangeness.

She traced a finger over the patch of his bare skin in front of her eyes. “Yeah.”

~*~*~*~

Buffy came back from the weekend with her mum bright-eyed and a healthy pink. Spike was glad to see her relaxed and happy once again. On Friday, it had been as though she had absorbed all of his discomfort as her own, and he didn’t like seeing her so subdued, especially knowing it was his fault.

Monday, she was back, bubbling about her weekend and tossing him to the mat with freakish skill. Whenever Buffy looked on the verge of making a move that would take them back into murky waters, Spike successfully distracted her with merciless tickling, which she breathlessly shrieked was _not_ a kickboxing move. When they finally collapsed on the floor in an endorphin-soaked heap, the moment had passed and he’d dodged the bullet for another day.

But now it was Tuesday, and there was another bullet labeled ‘Spike’ stashed somewhere on her person.

“That all you got, little girl?” Spike taunted as he dodged a fist. Buffy blindsided him with a rapid spin that landed her foot firmly to his solar plexus. He ‘oofed’ and stumbled back, and Buffy gloated in satisfaction as he landed on his bum. Another afternoon, another round of getting knocked on his arse, especially now that he was trying to fight by her rules. Nevertheless, he couldn’t prevent his mouth from twitching into a smile as she beamed at him and hauled him back to his feet. Buffy was so in her element here, when they sparred. She glowed with such self-confidence; she was hardly the girl he knew. For that reason alone, he’d drop another couple grand to purchase this setup all over again, given the chance.

When Buffy came at him this time, Spike was able to block all of her blows, which meant she was going easy on him again. She only really kicked his arse when she got tired of his mouth—which guaranteed he’d tease her again, since her power turned him on. Spike was attracted to bringing it out of her, despite his renewed resolution to keep his hands off of her for a time.

Buffy tried the roundhouse on him again, but this time he caught her foot and refused to let go. She tried to yank her leg away but only succeeded in throwing herself off-balance, and he toyed with her, wobbling her body by the foot until she flailed her arms, and he pushed her away. She landed on the mat with a soft thud and lay blinking at the ceiling. Smirking, he towered over her body.

“Something wrong, pet?” he asked innocently.

She blinked up at him, and then burst into giggles. “That was a really rotten trick, Spike. We’ve talked about that, you know.”

He snorted. “Fighting clean’s overrated, luv, especially when you’re outmatched. Just goes to show, I’m a bad man.” Spike leered at her campily as he pulled her laughing form off the floor.

“I know,” Buffy joked, stumbling to her feet. “It’s a good thing for you, I love you anyways.”

Instantly, they both froze, still joined at the hands, and Spike’s heart kicked out against his ribs. “What?” he asked, dazed. Buffy’s whole face warmed over red, her green eyes wide, and Spike knew, sickly, that there was no way for either of them to play it off as a figure of speech. She— “You what?”

“I just meant…I was….” But Buffy didn’t deny the assumption that was hanging between them. Her eyes dropped from his.

Spike spun away, needing to think, but his head was full of cotton. He felt hot and feverish, and his heart felt too big and achey.

“Don’t,” he said finally, turning back to her. Buffy looked up at him, still flushed, brows drawn in confusion. He shook his head as he demanded, “Don’t love me.”

Buffy gaped at him. “I can’t just…stop! How can you—how the hell can you say that?”

Spike felt his face harden, even as his guts felt like they were decomposing into slushy liquid.

“Try.”

Buffy’s expressive eyes filled with tears, but he could tell she was trying to hold them back. Spike just wanted to stop this whole thing, to wind it back, to undo this mess.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop—” A sob tore past her defenses, and she looked so _small_ , so vulnerable, it broke his heart. But he didn’t move.

“I have responsibilities,” he heard himself say. “I can’t just be your bloody Prince Charming. Nothing is going to change about that just because you’ve decided you fancy me.”

Buffy looked as though Spike had kicked her in the face, and his stomach cramped painfully. “I don’t think you have to worry about being confused with Prince Charming. Your impression sucks.” Her small show of backbone was ruined when her face crumpled and her body seized up again in painful sobbing. “I know, I sh-shouldn’t, but you’re the best thing—”

The rest was lost to the incoherence of inconsolable weeping. Spike felt like a right bastard. He stepped forward. “Kitten, I—”

Bawling, Buffy shoved away the hand that reached for her. “Don’t touch me.” He faltered. “Just get the hell out of here, Spike.”

Spike hesitated, then heart in his shoes, turned and walked away.


	8. Chapter 8

Friday was Independence Day in America, a fact that Spike had almost forgotten in the turmoil of the preceding days. It was sort of a joke, wasn’t it, for the anniversary of the official secession of the American colonies to come the day after his little American had blurted out her love for him. There was something to that—not a symmetry, but certainly a big bleeding irony.

Spike’s mind shied away from the topic. He wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that Buffy loved him, or thought that she did, in her young way. As a result, he had avoided her like the plague ever since. It tore at his heart that every time he _had_ seen her, Buffy’s eyes had been red and swollen with crying. Spike was positive things couldn’t get any more awkward and complicated.

And then things got more awkward and complicated.

~*~*~*~

“Coming!” Spike sang out, jogging from the kitchen to the front door at the sound of the chiming bell. He swung the solid wood open to reveal a boy, taller and broader than himself, but obviously youthful in the roundness of his face. Not to mention the ridiculous spiky hair—kids these days favored it, God knew why. “Sorry, kid, whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying. Happy Fourth of July!”

Spike started to swing the door shut in the Eagle Scout’s face, but one meat hook of a hand shot out and stopped it from closing. “Wait!”

Spike pulled the door back towards him enough to look at the boy.

“I’m not selling anything, I’m here to see Buffy. Could you tell her Angel is here? Or better yet, could I come in and surprise her? I drove up from Portland, but she doesn’t know.”

Spike took a renewed interest in scrutinizing the boy. So, this was Angel, the git who had broken Buffy’s heart in Portland. Spike didn’t see what was so worthy in the boy. Good enough looking kid, but with a Neanderthal forehead like that, he couldn’t be brighter than your average crock pot.

Spike studied him coldly, body still blocking the entryway. “How did you know to find her here? Didn’t get the impression Buffy wants you two to keep in touch.”

Angel looked thrown. “Um…I showed up at her apartment to surprise her—I got that address from her friend Willow in Portland—and her mom told me I could find her here.” He frowned at Spike for a moment. “Why do you care? That’s kind of a nosy question for her boss to ask.”

Spike folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well it’s my home, innit? Not just going to let crazy stalker boys in to molest my nanny.” This prat was annoying Spike just by breathing. Who was questioning whom here?

Angel was obviously losing his temper, sputtering at Spike’s words. “Stalker boy? Mol—I’ll have you know I’m her boyfriend!”

“ _Ex_ -boyfriend. Left out the key qualifier, mate.” Spike rocked forward menacingly. Gloating. Piker like this needed to be cut down to size.

Angel was just leaning forward in aggression when Spike felt a small hand on his shoulder. Without a word to Spike, Buffy nudged him aside and slipped past, throwing her whole body into the git’s arms. Angel caught her, buried his face in her shoulder and laughed, hoisting her off the ground and twirling her.

Spike was so livid that he completely missed the fact that Buffy’s responding laughter sounded suspiciously like sobbing.

Buffy pulled back from Angel and pushed past Spike into the house, pulling Angel behind her. “We’ll be in the backyard, I’m taking an hour off. Consider this my lunch break if you want,” she informed Spike tonelessly over her shoulder, and then they were gone, out the sliding glass door and into the sunshine.

Spike scowled.

~*~*~*~

Buffy knew she should feel conflicted to see Angel. But after the week she was having, she’d felt nothing but untarnished joy and relief at hearing his voice coming from the front door. He was something familiar, someone that had known her before her life had taken a nosedive into Sucksville. And somehow, in the last seven months, the pain of his rejection had faded just enough to be bearable.

She wondered if she would ever feel that way about Spike. Right now, she couldn’t imagine it. Right now, she could only imagine feeling as shattered as she did right this minute.

Buffy settled them onto the deck lounge chairs, both perched on the edge of their own seats, facing each other, knees touching reassuringly. Angel was holding both of her hands in his larger ones, studying her face as though he didn’t like what he saw now that he’d had a good look at her. She could only imagine that it was too obvious from the puffiness of her eyes how much she’d been crying. Angel looked suspiciously back towards the sliding glass door of the house, as if he could wrench an explanation from it.

He couldn’t, though, so he was going to try to wrench one from her.

“What’s going on here?” The no-nonsense tone was the same. He _looked_ the same. Was it only her that was so wildly different?

“Nothing,” she replied by rote.

Angel shook his head, denying her denial. “You’ve been crying, and that guy was acting all weird. Something is going on between you.”

Buffy looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She laughed through her words in disbelief at the suggestion of such a thing, but…well, she wasn’t winning the Oscar.

“Bullshit.” His voice was quiet but lined with steel. Buffy’s eyes snapped back to his. Angel never talked to her like that. “Buffy, what the hell are you involved in?”

She suddenly located the anger she was supposed to have for him, and shot to her feet. “Oh no, _you_ don’t get to talk to me like that. And you don’t get to act all concerned and proprietary after what you did.”

“What _I_ did? I did what was best for you, which I can guarantee hasn’t been a consideration for that creep. I didn’t let you go so that you could have an affair with a married man. Because that _is_ what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

Only half of his tirade penetrated, but she heard the last part loud and clear. She said nothing to that, just pressed her lips together and crossed her arms defensively over her body.

“God, I was afraid of that. Buffy, he’s married, what are you _thinking_?”

When her tears welled up at that, Angel pulled her down gently by the elbow onto his deck chair. She didn’t have the energy to fight him…his admonishment had hit home—what the hell _was_ she doing?

Angel took a deep breath. “You’re better than this.”

Buffy looked up at him, and Angel looked so sincere. Her mind clouded. How could _he_ say she was better than anything? After he had left her?

“You didn’t think so,” she accused.

Angel just stared at her, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “What?”

“You didn’t think I was better than this, when you stopped loving me. You obviously didn’t think much—“

“Hey, why…where did you get that idea? I never said that. I _still_ love you. I always will.”

Tears blurred her vision and she shoved at him viciously, lashing out. “Don’t fuck with me, Angel! Don’t you fuck with me too, I can’t handle it right now.”

Angel banded his arms around her and made little shushing noises, holding on until she stopped shoving at him, until she was just small and limp in his arms.

“I’m not messing with you, Buffy. We were just going to be so far apart and it’ll be years until you can come back to Portland on your own. I didn’t want you to be tied to the phone all the time, always missing me. I know how you are.” Buffy was sobbing into his shirt. “I wanted you to be free to have a normal life up here, make new friends…even meet someone knew, if you wanted. But I haven’t been with anyone else, since you left. Ask Willow.”

It was the most words Buffy had ever heard Angel string together in their entire life. Even as a little kid, he’d been sort of monosyllabic to her carefree babble. He liked to tease her that it was the only reason they’d become friends at all—she had a captive audience for all thoughts Buffy. But however wordy, the tone of the message was nothing new.

Stupid, self-sacrificing, understanding, overly-solicitous idiot.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Buffy accused weakly, thumping a fist against his chest. It came out sounding like a sob.

Angel smiled at her sheepishly. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I miss you so much.”

Buffy looked up at him, eyes flat. She felt hollow from the outburst, as if all of her will and laughter and spirit had leaked out her eyes and now she had nothing. She didn’t even have Angel, because he would be leaving again, too soon. His words were the ones she’d wanted for months after the breakup, but they didn’t touch her like she’d thought they would, except to maybe settle something still lurking deep in the pit of her stomach.

She looked down and sniffled, wiping at her nose. “You were right. It would have been too hard, saying goodbye again and again, only seeing you every few months.”

Angel averted his eyes and added quietly, “I know that too.”

They were quiet for a while, just sitting side by side, Angel’s hand soothing up and down Buffy’s back.

“Buffy,” Angel finally said, approaching his topic carefully, “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this, you’re….”

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and scooted away from his hands. “Just don’t, ok? I really can’t talk about it.” Her chin trembled dangerously.

She could feel him studying her, worried. Angel always worried about everything, always worried about her happiness. Did Spike? God, what was she _doing_ with him?

“Just tell me what I can do to help,” Angel offered.

“Just—” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, gathered her emotions. “Just let’s not talk about it, ok? Can we just be normal all weekend? The way we were before we ever thought of dating?”

Angel kissed her temple and smoothed a hand down her hair, and it was all so familiar. He was like a warm blanket. Her friend, her next door neighbor, the boy who had pushed her down in the dirt when they were ten, but never let anyone else look at her cross-eyed. “Whatever you want, babe.”

Buffy stood. “Right now I want to go home. Like, _right_ now.”

“We can do that. I have a car now. Drove it up from Portland.”

Buffy smiled thinly. “Look at you, big man with the transportation.” She poked at his ribs, attempting to change the mood, and he smiled gamely.

When they stepped back into the kitchen, Buffy didn’t miss that Spike was scowling at the sink, which overlooked the backyard. She thought about how the two of them must have looked from inside, where he couldn’t hear. Fine, let him think whatever. Take a walk in her ill-fitting, jealousy-green shoes for five minutes.

“I’m leaving,” she informed him.

“What?” Spike shouted, whirling around. His whole body was rigid with nerves, and he stared at her in shock before turning a suspecting glare on Angel. Buffy could feel Angel bristle beside her, and the last thing she needed was blood on the linoleum floors, so she placed a hand on Angel’s arm to calm him. True to the universal laws of physics, it had the equal and opposite reaction on Spike, who appeared unable to tear his eyes away from where her hand rested.

“For the weekend,” Buffy clarified. Spike’s eyes flickered back up to hers, and comprehension was followed quickly by relief. She should have let him think it was forever, but he looked so panicked. She didn’t have the heart; mostly because she’d given hers to him. And now they both knew it.

God. She needed to get out of here, and self-medicate with frozen dairy products.

“I’m knocking off early for the day,” she continued. It wasn’t a question. Spike would have to have some nerve to insist that she stay, and she knew he knew it.

Buffy watched him regain his cool composure. “Oh…guess that’s alright then. It being a Yank holiday and all.” Spike smiled benignly at her, like a benevolent employer. The act he was putting on for Angel’s benefit made her snort derisively. Not like it was fooling a single breathing soul in this room.

“Yeah. Anyway…bye.” Buffy turned. “Come on, Angel, let’s get out of here. I’m _sooo_ ready for the weekend.”

She let Angel guide her out to the car, aware how it looked, and aware that Spike was looking. When she caught a glimpse of Spike’s face in the window as they pulled down the drive, she knew she shouldn’t care that he looked hurt.

She shouldn’t. But she did.


	9. Chapter 9

Spike went out of his skull all weekend imagining what Buffy was up to with that boy. The self-righteous little prick who’d scowled at him in his own home and held Buffy in his arms in the backyard.

Tosser.

He fretted that the two were getting back together. Merely out of concern for Buffy, of course. Spike didn’t trust the prat. He was too damn… _earnest_. The git had already broken her heart once and….

Spike cringed. Speaking of bastards who broke Buffy’s heart, no matter what bollocks he fed himself, it didn’t change the fact that Spike was jealous as hell. And as the weekend wore on, he felt less and less self-conscious about that, and more and more obsessed with it. It was eating him up inside, wondering what they were getting up to.

By Sunday, he’d resolved that things were going to change. He didn’t really understand how, because he still believed everything he had before. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave Drusilla and Jackson. He couldn’t lead Buffy on. But he wouldn’t be callous to her anymore either. If she’d still give him the time of day when she returned, they’d sit down and they’d talk about her feelings, and they’d…they’d work something out. He was grasping at straws for what that something might be, but they had to. They had to find something.

On Sunday evening, Buffy’s mum had called to tell him Buffy was not coming to work on Monday. In fact, she wasn’t coming Tuesday. Her _friend_ was staying for a few extra days, and Buffy would be back to work on Wednesday. She apologized for any inconvenience.

Spike had heard laughter in the background. Buffy’s, and the boy’s.

It was all he thought about for 61 hours.

~*~*~*~

Buffy had a new perspective on life, and it came with a whole set of resolutions. She was feeling all resolve-y. Call her Buffy the Resolute. It could be her Viking name, like Ivan the Terrible, or the lesser-known, Irving the Little-bit-wimpy. Yup, she was resolve-y girl.

No more acting like a fool over Spike. No more letting him call the shots, unless she told him to. No more being in love with him. Especially the last one. Very crucial. She’d write it on her bathroom mirror and make it her daily morning affirmation. ‘I am not stupid. I do not love Spike.’

Right.

She’d had a good weekend with Angel. A long weekend. She’d still felt sorry for herself at first, but after a few nights of B-movies and sundaes with Angel, Faith and Cordy, the hole Spike had blown in her gut began to mend. They were good friends and they made her laugh, and even though her heartache with Spike had remained in the background, beneath everything, eventually they’d distracted her enough that she didn’t think about it for a while.

She was still a little bit pissed that Angel wanted to be all high-and-mighty, I-do-what’s-best-for-you, but he’d been so great to her, all weekend. Even with him being a clueless ‘tard, knowing that he still loved her was a hell of a lot easier on the self-esteem than thinking he had set her aside so easily.

Being around Angel again had reminded her that she wasn’t easily forgotten. Buffy was actually quite memorable. And while she’d made it clear (in a gentle way) that he wasn’t the one she wanted anymore, she had kind of gotten off on the way his eyes still followed her around a room.

Because it had reminded her—she was Buffy. She was worth following. It was a lesson that Spike needed to learn, and she was going to make sure he learned it.

Angel’s parting words on Tuesday afternoon had been to urge her to stop messing around with Spike. He’d told her that whatever it was that was going on, it wasn’t good for her. And she’d agreed.

With the second part, not the first. Clearly Angel wasn’t gay, because if he had been, he would have taken one look at Spike and known that ceasing the sexual relations? Not happening.

But things were going to change, that was for sure.

~*~*~*~

Spike could not express how unsettling Buffy’s demeanor was when he picked her up for work on Wednesday morning.

She wasn’t puffy-eyed. She wasn’t sullen or heartbroken. She didn’t snap at him out of anger or look at him with big, green, teary eyes.

She was _fine_. Really. Right as rain, far as he could tell.

It set his teeth on edge the way she chattered, carefree, about her weekend with Angel and Faith and Cordelia. She’d carted the boy all around Seattle to see the sights on Monday. They’d even taken that bloody boring basement tour. They were just basements, like any other in any other town, and the fact that they’d been above-ground once upon a time, before the whole city had been filled in with dirt, wasn’t a good enough reason to fork over cash for the pleasure of seeing them. That tosser had probably loved it though. He struck Spike as someone as interesting as cardboard, and half as bright.

“…and when he left, he told me I could call him any time, day or night. Isn’t that sweet?”

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, unimpressed. “It’s peachy.” He snuck a look at her. “You two back together, then?”

Buffy grinned. “Nah. I told him he missed his shot.”

Spike straightened a little. “Good for you, then, pet. He wronged you. Don’t have to put up with that.”

Buffy just studied him silently with this ironic little smile, until Spike felt supremely uncomfortable.

~*~*~*~

He wished to bloody hell he was working on a novel. The well had dried right up, and at any rate, he was supposed to be taking a break before the book-signing tour in the fall.

But it would have given him something to do all day, instead of going out of his skull, watching her bounce around the house without a care in the world. No bra, the evil bint. He’d tried to bring up the matter of their relationship, but she’d deflected him repeatedly, and made him feel like a silly sod in the process.

She was staying with them until next Friday, straight through the weekend—to make up for her unplanned vacation. Or, as Spike suspected, to drive him mad.

Spike simply couldn’t take any more of it, so he’d retreated out here to the deck in the waning light of a long summer’s day, having a smoke. If he couldn’t indulge in one vice, he’d have another.

He heard the patio door open and close, so it was really no surprise when she spoke. He didn’t turn around.

“Pouting?” Buffy was teasing him. It was her new favorite sport, and she could win a gold medal.

He released a long steady stream of smoke. “No,” he finally replied. “Just killing myself slowly.”

He heard her snicker. “ _Somebody’s_ chipper today.”

She ignored him when he muttered that she was chipper enough for the both of them. She surprised him, however, by seating herself on the wide armrest of the sturdy, reclining deck chair and plucking the cigarette from his fingers for a drag. She took it slowly, savoring the taste without coughing once, and handed it back to him.

Buffy mirrored his arched brow, a small smile playing at her lips. “What, I can’t have a dark side?”

Spike couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “So you’re a real bad girl, eh kitten?”

“I can be.”

He was still chuckling at the idea through a plume of smoke when she dropped her pants and crawled into his lap. He choked on his next inhale. Self-conscious, Spike cast a wary glance at the other houses bordering his property.

“Buffy—” he began, but then she was drawing her tank top over her head and she was naked, and all over him. They hadn’t spoken, and they sure as hell hadn’t resolved anything, and they were in full view of several families that would probably take umbrage to that weird English writer boffing his underaged babysitter in front of the kiddies.

But Christ, he was a fool for her, because he let her put out his cigarette and press in for a kiss, and he didn’t say anything that sounded remotely like ‘no.’

Oh, God she felt good against him. It had been far too long. Less than two weeks, but that was too much. And somehow, the riskiness of the venue made it that much better when Buffy ground herself obscenely against the crotch of his jeans.

Spike struggled for a little bit of the responsibility he had felt over the long weekend as he let her pull his shirt off over his head. “Pet, you really don’t have to—”

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. “This is no chore, believe me. And don’t try to be all moral now, Spike, it doesn’t look good on you.”

He started to object to that, but considering that he was currently lifting his hips to help her relieve him of his jeans, swearing softly as she rolled a condom onto the cock that was more than ready for her—he didn’t really think he had much of a case.

She didn’t particularly seem to want any foreplay. When he tried to touch her, Buffy pinned his arms to the armrests and mounted him, sliding down around his cock, slick and snug and hot for him. They were already moving in a powerful rhythm—or rather, she was—when his hands were finally freed. She thrust herself onto his cock, hard and fast, looking so comfortable with her own body that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Even after the sun had fully set, his eyes were riveted on her face in the dim glow coming from the neighbor’s porch lights. She was a goddess. Her eyes were drifted closed and her hair was loose and wild, and she moaned as she rode him, caught up in her own pleasure.

Not that she really needed to look after his. He was coming along nicely all on his own.

Spike itched to take over, but it was clear who was in control here, and it was fucking sexy to see her this way, at any rate. So when he thrust up against her, he didn’t change her rhythm, and when his hands slid back to clutch at her ass, he didn’t grind her deeper onto his cock. Though he was bloody well tempted.

He did, however, frown when he tried to slide his thumb onto Buffy’s clit and his hand got smacked for his trouble.

But she moaned when he closed rough teeth over her nipple, hand cupping the underside of her breast to plump the flesh and hold it steady for his mouth. Threaded her hand into his hair and sped her hips when his hand cracked down lightly on her ass. And when her own hand drifted down into her curls and she played with herself frantically as she brought herself off on him—well, he wasn’t objecting to the show, understand.

In fact, the sight, veiled as it was by the darkness, made Spike’s breath come short and his groin flush hotter, and then he was stifling a moan against her throat as he came. Buffy continued to move restlessly above him, desperate on the verge, and all he could do was watch, panting, as she threw her head back and lost herself, loudly, coming so strongly around his softening cock that Spike shuddered and groaned.

Spike was mildly surprised when Buffy slumped down against his chest, curling into him as she always did, and it took him a moment to put his finger on the reason.

This had been unlike any other sexual encounter between them. Buffy seemed…well, cold was certainly not the word for it, but…disaffected. Casual. Spike realized he wouldn’t have been surprised, from their coupling, if she’d gotten up and wandered into the house afterwards instead of resting her body against him sweetly, as she was doing now.

Spike felt…very unsettled by the observation. It was so unlike the girl he knew.

The evening air was chilly in Seattle, even during the heat of summer, and when the shiver passed through her, he wrapped his arms around her back and tried to rub some warmth into her body. They should really go inside—they’d be covered in mosquito bites. Aggressive little buggers.

But they were comfortable, and it occurred to him that if he was going to get her to talk to him, now was the time to try.

“Buffy?” She gave a contented little purr and tried to burrow further into his shoulder. Spike smiled. He stroked a hand through her hair. “Kitten, about what you said to me the other day. I—”

Buffy stilled, but her voice was casual. “Forget about it.”

“I really don’t think we should.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

His hands paused in their soothing motions before resuming. “You were a bit too upset to have been lying, petal.”

Buffy sat up, and he let his hands fall to rest on her thighs. “I wasn’t lying. I just—I just realized over the weekend that I wasn’t, that’s all.”

Spike huffed out an incredulous laugh, somewhat taken aback. “Over the course of four days you decided—”

“Yes, Spike. Four days. Four days that I spent with someone I used to _really_ love. And who loved me back, however badly it ended. This isn’t love. This is really hot sex, and I let it go to my head and it made me confuse the two. You’ll have to forgive me, but this is my first extra-marital affair, so I’m a little new at all this.”

Spike felt like he’d been slapped. Stricken speechless, actually, which was a difficult thing to accomplish with him. As much of a problem as her confession had been, her retraction of it stung more than he could say. Not that he really wanted to say it at all. Bloody hell, even he didn’t understand it.

“So…you….” He was at a loss.

Buffy’s voice was gentler when she spoke again. “Look, I have my head on straight now. I don’t want this to stop just because I lost it for a while. I’m fine. Just forget I said anything.”

It tasted bitter, like a lie, but she sounded confident in her feelings. So Spike agreed.


	10. chapter draft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come to the conclusion that this fic is never going to actually be completed. But I’m opting to share the remaining pieces I had written, and explain where the story *would* have gone, because folks expressed interest and I know sometimes that’s all I can ask for if someone decides to abandon a fic. I just want to know where it was *supposed* to go, especially if I couldn’t understand how the thing could end myself.
> 
> Sorry for the spammage, but I decided drawing anything out for fb was downright cruel and undeserved given that I wasn’t *actually* completing the fic, haha. *thumps my knuckles with a ruler*]

His thigh was warm and solid beneath her cheek, and his hand was petting through her hair. The movie droned on in an unnecessary but comforting way.

These were, secretly, her favorite moments with Spike. When Jackson was asleep and Drusilla was working late and she could almost pretend….

Buffy sighed and shifted, not really seeking a more comfortable position so much as trying to burrow deeper into this one. Spike’s fingers trailed down from her hair, knuckles making a passing stroke against the soft hollow of her cheek, to caress her arm. Eventually they tangled aimlessly with her own where her hand was curled against her chest, so that the weight of his arm caged her pleasantly against his thigh, hand cradling hers.

The warm feeling that buzzed in her chest when Spike squeezed her hand woke Buffy from her snuggle-stupor.

She rolled onto her back and stretched out along the sofa, smiling when he looked down at her. “This movie’s kinda boring.”

Spike smirked, eyes laughing at her. “Don’t have to tell me. You’re the one that picked it out.”

“Well, you know,” she flirted. “I changed my mind. Besides, there are much more interesting things we could be doing.”

This time he smiled. His hand, successfully dislodged from hers, slid to brush lightly over her nipple. “Are there?”

“Yeah. And I was thinking we could try something new.”

His hand was warm and soft as it slipped up her belly under her shirt, thumb teasing when it met her bare breast. The way that he focused intently on her—eyes, hands—made her belly coil tight. “And what curiosity’s got the kitten today?”

“Remember when you tied me up?” Buffy arched up into his palm, enjoying the way that his face went lax and hot with the memory and anticipation.

“How could I forget?”

“I was thinking I should return the favor.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t look opposed to the idea. Even a little intrigued. “Is that so. Want me helpless so you can have your dirty way with me, do you?”

Buffy held his eyes. “Yup.”

A half-smile tugged at Spike’s mouth. “Well alright then.”

~*~*~*~

“You weren’t a Girl Scout, were you?” Spike eyed the knots she was making with startling proficiency. He was seeing a whole new side to the girl lately.

“Maybe,” Buffy teased, leaning across his body just above reach. The soft cloth bound him to the headboard so that there was no give for range of motion. “Why?”

“No reason. Or several. Short little pleated skirts. Those knee-high socks with the little emblem. An education in proper knot-tying, _and_ they come with cookies….”

Buffy laughed. “God, you’re such a dirty old man. You’re totally shameless.”

“That’s me, baby. I’ve always been bad.” Buffy laughed at the cheesiness of his leer, but it only made him grin.

“Well, bad boy, tonight you’re just gonna have to lie there and take it.” She leaned in close against his chest, eyes staying on his playfully as she teased her tongue at his nipple. “Think you can handle that?”

Buffy’s gut clenched as his grin faded out into warm, amused lust. His eyes crinkled up at the corners even as they grew heavy-lidded. “Try me, little girl.”

Buffy twitched an eyebrow at the challenge, and crawled around to settle her clothed body onto his bare one, straddling one thigh as she latched her teeth onto the peaked nipple she’d been teasing. Thought she’d actually managed to look sexy when he moaned softly, arching his chest up into her mouth.

By the time she started thrusting her hips, riding his thigh through the thin material of her panties, Spike was half-hard, cock filling against his thigh. “Buffy….”

She craned up to kiss him, loving the way he pressed up to devour her mouth, making a hungry little growl as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. He crooked his thigh, snugging it up against her crotch and pressing with his hips to increase the pressure against her clit, riding up to meet the slide of her own hips.

“Fuck, pet. Soaked your panties for me already.” Buffy couldn’t help the little sound of agreement as she swallowed the mumble of his words again, tongue slipping into his mouth to battle aggressively against his as he continued stroking her the only way he was able. When she pulled away, she felt her heart thud at the intense look in Spike’s eyes. “C’mon, Goldilocks. Wanna see my naughty girl ride me.”

Buffy smiled a little foolishly, pink-cheeked as he teased her with the curl of his tongue against his teeth.

“No.”

All the smugness fell from his face, and she smiled wider. “No?”

“No,” she repeated again lightly, straddling his abdomen and grinding down into it as she pulled her top over her head. She waited until his eyes were firmly fixed a foot south of polite. “Who’s in charge here again?”

Blue eyes darted back up to her smirking face. He laughed lightly. “I would guess that would be you.”

“Damn straight, and don’t you forget it.”

“I suspect you won’t let me,” he murmured, focused on her mouth as it dropped back towards his.

They kissed for a long while. Spike always liked making out, which she loved…once she and Angel had started having sex, _he_ hadn’t shown much interest in kissing anymore. Neither had Parker, really. It was all about the main event.

Though just now, _Buffy_ was the one eager to get down to business. Spike did that to her, somehow. Got her eager, even though he tried usually to slow them down. Buffy’s stomach fluttered with nerves and something else as she thought about what she wanted to do with him. She squirmed against him, nipples hardening as they slid along his chest through the lace of her bra. Spike moaned when her hips slid farther down his body, grinding against his cock as she straddled him.

His tip was bumping eagerly against her entrance through her panties. Buffy’s breath quickened and she pulled back to share a breathless look with him as she thrust down against it. She was so ready for him…if she were naked, he would be sliding inside with no guidance.

She sat up and repositioned herself over his shaft, rocking herself in long slides up and down his cock, hips undulating. Felt so good…the cotton of her panties was a little rough, which made her grateful she wasn’t wearing lace down there too. His girth filled in the gap of her spread outer lips, just the right size to stimulate her as she rode him.

Spike was gasping now, muscles straining against his bonds as he thrust his hips up against her. Blue eyes were a little unfocused, eyelids low as he watched her body move, trying to peek up her skirt as she fucked herself against him. Buffy felt good—better, when his eyes flickered up eagerly as she cupped her breasts, twisting her nipples through the material.

She threw her head back and began to move faster, eyes still on him.

“Ohhh god, luv….”

“Don’t come,” she said quickly. She wanted to laugh at the dirty look that earned her, but this was her turn…he’d thank her for his, she hoped.

“Yes, mistress.”

Buffy laughed at the petty snipe, bracing one hand on his abs as she worked herself harder against him, gasping as the edge of his head caught her clit again and again. Spike’s eyes were closed, muscles cording on his neck as he held on by a thread, and when Buffy’s orgasm welled up quick and hard, he swore at the little cries she panted out. Arching up into the clamp of her thighs on his hips.

As the pleasure flooded out of her, she leaned a little bonelessly on her bracing arm, breathing deeply as she ground her pelvis down against his, coming down.

“So…it’s to be torture then, is it?”

Buffy opened her eyes to see Spike looking down at her wryly. He flexed his hips upwards, poking her with his erection.

“Aww poor baby. Are you feeling all neglected?” She pouted her bottom lip out at him. He looked a little put out at her mocking.

“Damn straight I am.” Grumble grumble grumble. It would have been cute if it wasn’t so damn funny. She withheld her laughter, but barely.

Because he changed his whole tune when she slithered down his body and perched over his cock. Moaned, eyes riveted, when she licked a stripe up his shaft.

Buffy wanted to blush a little when she realized why he tasted sweeter than usual, but she licked her lips instead. Hoped it looked sophisticated. “You taste like me.”

Spike stared at her hotly for a split second before his head rolled back on the pillow, moaning. “Oh, god pet.”

His whole body arched and strained when she wrapped her lips around his head and began to suck softly, flickering her tongue in and around the head. Body twitching as if to thrust when she sank down around him again and again, head bobbing and twisting as she stroked the base with a hand.

He began to shudder convulsively as the pleasure built to a peak, groaning and swearing her name. At the last minute, she thought to pull away. “Don’t come yet.”

Spike laughed with a slightly insane edge, a bit desperate. Buffy felt a little smug about that. “Of course not. Why would I do a thing like that?”

When she nipped at his lower belly, his whole body jerked sensitively, tremoring a little as she licked the spot in apology. She rubbed her cheek against his cock, smiling innocently at him when he looked down at her suspiciously.

“You’re a monster.”

“Says the one who made me this way.”

He smirked at that. But when Buffy slid her arms under his thighs, crooking his knees up till his feet were planted on the bed, his eyebrows shot up towards his hair line.

That look made her more nervous.

She used the new openness of his body to distract him—sucked the soft, almost rubbery skin of his sac into her mouth along with one testicle, manipulating it gently as his hips ground down into the attention.

Buffy’s stomach was twisting with nerves. What if he didn’t like it? What if she couldn’t do it right? What if he thought it was…sick, or…wrong? No, Spike wouldn’t freak out like that…she didn’t think. Besides, maybe he’d done it before…it seemed like he’d done everything, at one time or another.

Stalling really wasn’t making her feel less nauseous.

When she sat up, Spike’s eyes followed her, and they crinkled a little with amusement when her hand slid under her skirt and into her panties. Flickering avidly between her face and where she fingered herself. He licked his lips.

“You know, pet, you really shouldn’t have a second go before I’ve had my first. ‘S not really polite.” She smiled thinly at the joke, too apprehensive to laugh. Concern ghosted over his face. “Luv? You alright?”

Buffy nodded, eyes flickering unconsciously down to the small pucker of muscle half-hidden by the position of his body. Once they settled there, she couldn’t look away—couldn’t possibly look back up at his face when his body stiffened in recognition, scared of the look she’d find on his face.

Her fingers were slick when she pulled them away from her body, heart in her throat. She resettled herself, and before she could change her mind, pressed the tip of her index finger against the little rosebud. It didn’t give right away as she sort of expected it to, not even when she pressed a little more. She didn’t want to push too hard…that could hurt him, right? He was always so gentle with her….

All fear of hurting him vanished when she raised her eyes to his. Spike was watching intently, eyes dilated, mouth gaping—looking caught between panting and holding his breath. When she caught his eyes, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and his pelvis shifted for her. “You’re alright, kitten.”

After that it was somehow easier to apply a little force, and her finger slid inside as he threw his head back and gasped, ring of muscle clamping down on her finger. The whole channel hugged down on her digit as she rocked it in and out a few times, experimenting.

Buffy began to thrust with a little more purpose, feeling…funny at watching part of her disappear inside part of him. Backwards and intriguing and…naughty. Her lower belly filled with warmth. Deciding that one finger was too small, she withdrew and carefully worked her middle finger inside as well, buoyed when Spike breathed out an encouragement.

Buffy chewed her lip in concentration as she crooked her fingers up towards herself, searching for what she’d read about. When her fingers ghosted over a small spongy bump and his body jerked with a hiss, she returned to it, pressing gently…and as though he were a marionette on strings, his body arched up into the touch quietly, lips parted and eyelids fluttering.

She pulled her fingers out and thrust against it as hard as she dared, and his body bowed off the bed with a curse like he’d been electrocuted.

Wow.

“Oh, Christ, Buffy—”

She laughed softly, relieved that he liked it. She went back to working her fingers in and out, still a little breathless over the fact that she’d really done it. Spike’s hips were rolling into the attention, and his body jerked every time she bumped into his prostate—keeping the stimulation erratic as the site had suggested, semi-regular prodding mixing with slower, concentrated strokes. Spike was cursing like a sailor.

When she began to mouth along the shaft of his cock, licking and sucking as she thrust, Spike bucked hard, and Buffy looked up find heavy blue eyes on her own. His face was soft and lax and…helpless-looking. Helpless was the best word she could put to it. The heat of the concept sliced through her.

His eyes rolled back but returned to her as she sucked on the head, increasing the speed of her fingers until his body was quavering. “Fuck, luv…perfect.” It was involuntary, the way his head rolled on the pillow, entire body straining upward, trying to reach for…something. He tasted strong on her tongue, hips pumping up into her mouth now as she held back far enough that he couldn’t choke her and just let him, controlling his thrusts only with her own. Her in him in her. Her clit was throbbing again.

“’m I allowed to come yet?” he choked out, half laugh, half strangle, and she didn’t even have the heart to tease him.

“Whenever you want.”

“Bloody well need— _shit_!” Spike’s surly mumbling was cut off abruptly by the suction and the firm, rapid massage against that magic nerve bundle—his orgasm slammed into him like a tangible force, his strangled cry not stopping until his cock was soft and twitching in her mouth as she withdrew her fingers carefully from his over-sensitized body.

He came up from his half-faint laughing, which she should have expected. Idiot always came up laughing when she sucker-punched him. Her echo of the sound came easy.

“Fucking brilliant, you are.” Spike took in the flush of her face with bleary eyes. “Got my pet all hot too, didn’t it sweetheart.”

Buffy didn’t answer so much as kiss.

“Can’t let a good turn like that go unrewarded.” That devil’s tongue curled around his teeth. “Strip off and have a seat, yeah?”

It took her a moment to catch his meaning—she sure as hell knew he wouldn’t be getting hard any time soon. When she got it she blushed, and he laughed, but his eyes followed her as she slipped out of her skirt and panties, making her a little self-conscious as she knee-walked up to—god—straddle his face, and how awkward was that.

She was contemplating whether she was supposed to just…sit, or what, when he turned his head and nipped at her thigh. He laughed when she yelped, hips jerking.

“Gonna have to come a bit closer than that, Goldilocks.” She swore she was going to kill him when he gave a smug and pointed look at her…less than golden curls. “And while you’re at it, be a luv and untie a fellow.”

In retaliation for the dig to her hair color—who was _he_ to talk about dye-jobs—Buffy sat and sat hard, though all that got was a chuckle that vibrated against her pelvis and made her grind against his face breathlessly. The movement allowed him to catch her clit, sucking it with a force that made her gasp and bite her lip.

When his hands yanked against his restraints, she rolled her eyes at him and started to work the knots. At which point Spike flickered his tongue over the trapped bundle of flesh. She swore and he laughed, and it took fucking forever to untie him.

Once his hands were free, though—all games were off. She was so close already, from the teasing and foreplay and illicit thrill of getting him off like that…she was swollen and sensitive, and her hips rocked quickly above him, desperate for that extra friction as his mouth concentrated at her clit. His chin pressed against the dull ache of her empty passage as he groped her, hands kneading her ass as he tried to direct her movement. All of her embarrassment was gone—soaring at the power of the position as her hands gripped the headboard, thighs tensing as she rode him faster, throbbing with the onset of quick hard contractions. Sobbing and thrashing as one of his arms wrapped around her thigh in an embrace as she came apart.

When she was done, he tried to wind her up again, but her body was boneless and she was content as she slipped down to settle against his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, hand smoothing lazy along her back. Buffy was nearly asleep when his voice rumbled out of his chest under the cheek.

“Well. That was thoroughly, disappointingly vanilla.”

Helpless laughter spilled out of her until she was wiping at her damp eyes. “God, I was so scared.”

“Shocked the piss out of me, princess. Where’d you learn how to do _that_?”

“I was doing some uh. Reading. On the internet.”

Spike snorted a chuckle out his nose. “Well you’re welcome to my office any time you like. I encourage the education of today’s youth.”


	11. chapter draft

[I never wrote the beginning of this chapter. Somehow, they end up in the master bedroom, and she’s poking through his stuff]

“Eww. You have porn in here!”

Spike smirked. “Well, yeah.”

“That’s dirty.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve established that I’m a dirty sort of bloke. And you’d better get used to the idea, because you’ll be hard pressed to find a man who _hasn’t_ owned porn at some point in his life. I just happen to have a wife that didn’t care to domesticate me out of it.”

“Still. They’re so skeezy.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“No! God. Gross.”

Spike laughed. “Well then you don’t know.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Some of them are quite tastefully done, you know.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh yeah, I’m sure they’re real art. Ahead of their time.”

Spike shrugged. “They serve their purpose.”

“Whatever. Horndog. I don’t get it. You have a real wife, who you can have any time you want. _And_ you have me. Do you seriously need to jack off to…oh my god, do you seriously have Debbie Does Dallas? I thought that was a joke.”

Spike actually looked offended. “It’s a classic! And granted, they haven’t gotten much use of late, but I rarely wank off to them, because I rarely watch them alone.”

Buffy stared at him. She forced herself to shove aside any weirdness about talking about Spike and Dru’s sex life. Because that so didn’t matter to her anymore…since she and Spike were just fucking. Nothing more. Obviously he had sex with his wife. She so didn’t care.

It was just the idea of them watching porn together that weirded her out.

“You and Dru….”

He held her eyes smugly. “Yup.”

Buffy’s eyes returned to the row of sleezy titles as she thought about that. She jolted a little nervously when she felt Spike’s warm breath on the back of her neck. His arms slipped around her waist, petting her tummy as he laid a kiss against her ear.

Sometimes he really did have the voice of the devil. “Wanna watch one?”

~*~*~*~

Spike settled himself back against Buffy’s headboard as she loaded the disc into the dvd player and fiddled with the television, face beet red. Picking out a movie had been fun. He’d forced her to make the choice, under his advisement. If he was going to introduce her to pornography, it was going to be something that would get her all hot and bothered. Damned if he was going to be the only one to get worked up, or he _would_ have to have a wank.

Besides, it was too much fun to see Buffy turn an interesting shade of fuchsia when she’d finally picked out a film in which a USO girl _entertained_ a whole barrack. Seemed the girl was a bit wet for men in uniform.

She was a kinky little thing, when it came right down to it.

Buffy settled herself onto her stomach with her bare legs stretched back towards Spike. When he tickled her foot she kicked him and gave him a prim insulted glare that made him grin.

Then the film started, and Buffy scoffed at the horrifically bad dialogue. “Oh please, who says that? What a ho-bag, anyway. What woman _wants_ to do all those guys?”

Spike didn’t even have to hide his grin, since her eyes were still glued to the television. “Who, indeed. You know, people generally pick pornography that fits in with their own personal fantasies.” He waited a beat. “You _did_ pick the movie.”

She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Are you calling me a slut?”

“Course not, kitten,” he soothed, and smiled wickedly when she looked somewhat appeased. “Just saying you’re a kinky little harlot.”

“ _Heyyy!_ ” she cried out, indignant, and lobbed a foot startlingly close to his crotch. His only comfort was that she could have only missed on purpose. She laughed, pleased that she’d made him panic, and he smiled at the sound.

Buffy turned back to the television, cheeks a bit pink. “You know I wouldn’t ever _do_ it…. It’s just….”

“Thinking about it makes you hot,” he finished for her, massaging her smooth calf. She nodded without looking at him. “See, you’re getting the point of the stuff already.”

They fell silent as things started heating up on screen. Bloody hell, this was a good one. Spike liked it because the girl was quite…enthusiastic about taking on ten blokes in their camis. She was either a remarkably good actress for her industry, or she really got off on it. He wasn’t sure which sounded more unlikely, but he didn’t particularly care. Got him hard as nails every time.

Though to be honest, he was paying more attention to the girl beside him on the bed. Buffy held herself stiff at first, ears pink with embarrassment, but when he didn’t make fun, or draw any attention to her at all, she relaxed a bit. Relaxed and then later still, began to fidget, breathing a bit harder with her eyes glued to the screen. The actress in the film was servicing two blokes while the rest waited in line, all eyes on her. Buffy’s legs shifted restlessly, her body uncomfortable with its arousal, seeking its own stimulation. Spike wondered if she’d be touching herself if he wasn’t here.

Wondered if she’d start, if he lay in wait long enough. He thought she would…slide her little hand into her panties and—

Unfortunately, Spike was bloody horny himself, and didn’t have enough patience to see that theory through. Buffy was engrossed enough in the on-screen action that she didn’t notice him moving until he settled his weight on top of her, causing her to jump a little in surprise. He molded himself to her back heavily, forearms bracing alongside hers on the mattress, touching her top to toe.

She was so hot for it already that her ass rubbed back into his crotch when he nibbled at her ear. Spike moaned and stroked himself against her shorts, breathing heavily as he worshipped her neck and ear and the tilted-up side of her face with his mouth. Buffy met the rotations of his hips, biting her lip. Receptive little kitten in heat, and she was all his.

Spike’s hand slipped between her body and the mattress to cup her breast. When he pinched her nipple she cried out, body jerking against his. Spike let out a dirty chuckle. “Yeah, pet, now you’re gettin’ it. Makes you just wanna be dirty, doesn’t it?”

He scraped his teeth over her bare shoulder as his hand descended to her shorts. He pulled a little whimper from her when he only brushed his hand lightly over the crotch. Buffy ground herself back against him and he groaned.

“Oh, bloody hell, luv. Naughty little girl. You’re all wet and swollen from thinking about it, aren’t you? All those strapping young lads, pounding away at you.” He finally gave in, using the hard seam of the jean material to rub against her clit. Buffy’s arms collapsed out from under her and she moaned into the mattress, arching back against his hard cock as he played with her. “Got stamina, my girl does. You’d give them all a run for their money. They’d all be wanting you.”

Buffy shouted out a rude protest when he got up and moved away, leaving her on the verge of coming.

“But they’re not here, are they, luv? I’ll have to be enough for you, all by my lonesome.” He teased her with skimming fingers as he slid her shorts off, her body trembling with readiness. “Here, pet, sit up and get your top off.”

Spike pulled his own clothing off and quickly rolled on a condom. Couldn’t wait to be in her. When Buffy started to turn towards him, he gently nudged her back onto her elbows and knees.

“You’ll wanna face this way, kitten, or you’ll miss the best part.”

Buffy had clearly forgotten about the movie, so when she turned back to the screen, her eyes widened and she blurted “Oh, god!” Little miss USO was sandwiched between two men, stuffed full. She lay back to chest on top of one bloke who held steady and enjoyed the tight tunnel of her arse while the soldier standing over them fucked her cunt enthusiastically.

Buffy was gaping at the film, flushed all the way down her neck. When Spike brushed one fingertip lightly over the pucker of her upturned ass, the breath snagged in her chest and she listed backwards, eyelids too heavy to open. Spike smirked as he hauled her hips back and up, plunging into her eager slickness. Buffy shouted and arched her back. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”

When he didn’t give it to her as hard and fast as the soldiers on the telly, she tried to force the issue. Urge him faster, or rougher, by arching herself back into him desperately. And Christ knew that was a turn-on but she made him want to be contrary, so instead he dropped his weight onto her, pressing her flat onto her belly. The shift made her close more snuggly around him, and he groaned, pushing as far inside as he could manage and panting against her shoulder. When he rotated his hips against her in a slow grind, her muscles clamped onto his cock.

“Spike,” she begged, hand reaching back to curl into his hair. He perversely refused to satisfy either of them, continuing the grinding tease-fuck until they were both sweating. She was even more overstimulated than he was, and when he stroked a finger over her clit too lightly to set her off, she bloody well nearly tore his hair out. All it took was a few direct strokes to shatter her to bits, her cries eclipsing any of the staged grunting that might have filtered through to his brain as he clawed himself away from the edge of coming.

Spike sat back against his heels, hauling her up with him before she came all the way off the peak so that she was nestled onto his lap, thighs stretched wide outside his own, weight burying him deep. Her torso was held back against his by his arms wrapped around her, because at the moment the girl was rather boneless.

“You still with me, kitten?”

Buffy huffed out a laugh and nodded, rocking her hips against his with the little leverage the position afforded. He moaned and sucked on the salt of her neck, thinking he must be a masochist for this, when all he wanted was to thrust deep. Spike was dimly aware of the General arriving on-screen as they began to rock together more frantically, Buffy making languid, seeking noises as he plucked at her nipples and her clit.

He was working her up to another longer, deeper orgasm when she grew impatient with the position and surprised him by shifting forward to work herself back onto his cock, hard and fast. He swore at the sudden change but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining, not about the feel of her fucking herself onto him quick and deep, not about the wanton visual. Her lips were parted to release her soft grunts, face slack with surprised pleasure over the angle.

And dear, sweet god, he loved her bum.

His fingers were already slick with her natural lubrication and it wasn’t too difficult to work the one inside, thrusting it gently against the ring of muscle. She moaned his name as she tensed and started to fuck him faster, and when she clamped down on both his cock and his finger, Spike let go of the thread he’d been clinging to and plummeted a long, blissful way back to earth.

There was no collapsing in a heap afterwards. They stayed frozen as they were, panting, until Spike gingerly eased them apart and lowered himself onto the bed, feeling old and creaky in all his joints. The only thing that saved his vanity is that Buffy was moving in the same slow, pained way. The movie had run out and as they caught their breath in silence, Spike tried to figure out what the bloody hell he could say to that.

But Buffy beat him to it by mumbling something incoherently into the mattress.

“What was that, luv?”

Still dazed, she turned her face towards him. “I think…I understand the point of porn now.”

Spike began to laugh heartily at the earnestness of her revelation, and before long, she was giggling along with him until they were both in a fit. When it died down, leaving them both limp and relaxed at last, he nuzzled in for an unhurried kiss.

They pulled apart and he laughed a little more, punchy. “Glad you saw the light.”


	12. partial chapter

The only sunny day that Seattle had had in two weeks, and Buffy was getting dripped on. She looked up from her magazine to shoot a rye look at the guy who was totally ruining her tan by casting a shadow over her stomach.

“You’re being a pest.”

“You’re being a bloody boring narcissist. C’mon, luv, it’s a perfect day. Come play with me.”

She was nearly charmed by the plaintive little pout, but she had serious melatonin-building to do. “What are you, twelve? I’m playing with Jackson.”

They both looked at the baby, who was reclining in style under his own personal shading device, eating his own toes.

“Ok, so we weren’t playing. But I was giving him beauty tips that will last him a lifeti— _SPIKE! Spike put me down! Put me_ —”

Buffy snorted chlorine up both nostrils as Spike put her down—in the deep end of the pool. She had just corked up to the surface and cleared her nose, choking and sputtering, when he flashed her a mischievous grin and dove into the pool, headed for the opposite end.

She took off after him. Snagged his heel without getting kicked and hung on till he was off-balance underwater and had no choice but to pop to the surface for a breath. When he did, Buffy was right there waiting to shove him back under. That would teach him….

He grabbed her by the waist and dragged her shrieking under with him, copping a feel through her bikini top and when she shoved at him in a scolding manner he wiggled his eyebrows. She was giggling on the inside when she kicked him in the stomach to launch herself away, surfacing briefly before diving deep and skimming along the bottom of the pool, watching as Spike surfaced for a longer moment, looking towards Jackson, before coming after her.

He tickled her (cheater!), forcing her to expel the rest of her air in a rush, and when she surface he followed, pushing off the bottom and propelling her into the air so that she fell back with a splash.

“Okay!” she laughed at the surface, out of breath and giddy. It was a feeling that increased as he lurked to the surface directly behind her, hands slipping up her thighs and stomach as he went. He came up pressed close against her back, and Buffy got goosebumps from the cooler air and his warm breath against her ear.

“Do you surrender?” he teased, but his voice was a little deep and the conspicuous bulge in his trunks was settled against her ass.

“How do I know I can trust you? I’ve heard stories about you lawless pirates.”

He chuckled in her ear, hand sliding under the gathered edge of material that cupped the underside of her breast, fingers lightly twisting her nipple as they drifted towards the shallow end. “I’m sure we can reach mutually satisfactory terms if you give me permission to come aboard.”

The whole thing was so ridiculous and cheesy that Buffy started to laugh, and when he smiled against the side of her neck and latched his teeth onto her earlobe with a hearty “Arrrrrr,” she laughed even harder.

When Spike spun them and pressed her back against the wall, it was only natural for Buffy to wrap her legs around his narrow waist and pull him closer. He made a little purr of satisfaction and kissed her, tongue slipping between her lips to lick beyond her teeth.

His hands ran up along her sides, lingering as his thumbs toyed with her pebbled nipples, and Buffy shifted in his lap in response, grinding against his half-hard cock. Spike moaned and pulled her closer, breaking the kiss as his arm slid around her back to shield her from being scraped against the rough concrete of the lip of the pool.

His pupils were wide despite the sun, eyelids heavy as Buffy continued rocking their hips together until his other hand slid down to her hip to encourage her. He looked young like this, wet from the pool with his hair messy, curls having broken loose from the gel during their roughhousing. Water was beaded on his eyelashes and he had the faintest blush of sunburn, and for a moment Buffy let herself pretend he was just her age. Her boyfriend.

Then he broke eye-contact to turn and check on Jackson, and Buffy had just enough time to squish that fantasy before his attention was focused fully on her again.

She didn’t do much more thinking after that.

[yeah I know that was kind of a cop-out but that was all of the sex scene that I wrote, haha. But I liked what I had of it, so I had to share]


	13. notes/plans for unwritten parts of the fic

The idea of this fic was to use the kink as a window into the emotional development of their relationship. This is, I think, the ultimate reason why I abandoned it. it just doesn’t really fit my style so much any more, and it’s just *so* much sex. Which, you know, yay, but it feels kind of forced to me. The problem is that when I started this story, it was meant to be a substanceless pwp. But then the characters grew lives of their own and all this lovely angst and emotion started happening…if I were to do it all over again, I would have focused more on that as soon as I realized it was developing, rather than trying to do both. Not that I think it would have been horrible, the way I was planning it, but it didn’t do the greatest service to the story I was trying to tell.

And I do believe in the story I was trying to tell, ultimately. The story it turned *into*, which is why I feel some loss for leaving off. it’s a story about two people who, in another time and place, might have been really happy together, but circumstances dictate that that’s just *not* how it can be. Period. It’s about that time in a girl’s life when she discovers that her sexuality actually has *power* that she can wield, and for the first couple years wields it very foolishly and in a way that causes her more pain than joy. it’s about that deceptively-good-but-self-destructive relationship where the girl deludes herself about how well she can separate great sex from the growing love she feels. I think that’s a common experience of a lot of young women…both the sex-wielding and the delusion. Not necessarily linked, but they both come together in this story to just create a train wreck. And it’s about a guy who isn’t a bad guy, but he ends up seriously hurting this girl at this fragile time in her life. Not because he’s evil, but because his love/lust makes him even more short-sighted than he’s naturally inclined to be, and he sees what he wants to see, and he makes assumptions about the girl’s maturity that she couldn’t hope to live up to.

Basically, it’s a story about how an affair with a teenager, about how a large age difference, can go horribly wrong for all parties involved, even when there’s genuine affection and the best of intentions. And that’s why I knew that this story could never end well. the problem was that for the spuffy ship (and *especially* in human AU spuffy), that’s typically not what people want, and I realized that pretty early on. A lot of people seemed to expect it to veer towards a happy ending that to me wasn’t possible.

I’m getting off-track, I think. But that’s what this story was for me. Eventually I hit on a way to marry my needs and the reader’s needs, with an epilogue. Which was already written, so I’ll go ahead and post that.

 

 

Anyway, if I had written the rest of this fic, it was meant to go like this.

That visit from Angel and the long weekend away was sort of a turning point for both Spike and Buffy. Moreso for Spike, since Buffy’s turning point was most about kidding herself over her feelings. Well, they’re both kidding themselves, really.

Because Spike takes Buffy’s claim that it’s just sex a little more at face value than he should. He lets his guard down a bit, stops feeling so guilty about the emotional affair he’s having with her. And once he does that, it really *does* become more of an emotional affair for him. not that it wasn’t before…it started being that before he even touched her sexually, but he becomes more invested in it. and he justifies it to himself a little more easily. In fact I had a moment planned where Spike and Buffy were having sex somewhere in the kitchen or living room or something, and Spike sees Dru watching them…previously, he only would have had sex with Buffy when Dru wasn’t home, but he sees her and feels no guilt, and just keeps right on with what he’s doing and eventually she walks away. He starts cheating on their rules, see. Doesn’t really admit to himself what he’s doing, but he stops holding himself back from doing it. no real guilt, no more real internal dialogue with himself on the matter.

Meanwhile, Buffy is *all* internal dialogue, because she’s constantly trying to convince herself that this all means nothing. That all these little signals she’s getting from Spike don’t mean what she thinks they mean, and that she doesn’t care anyway because it’s just sex, and that is *is* just sex and she’s capable of handling that, and…well, yeah, you get the idea. It’s a very self-destructive sort of thing, but it’s deceptive because he makes her feel so good about herself, in a lot of ways. His feelings for her are genuine and he treats her respectfully and like she’s *somebody* (aside from the fact that they’re doing this at all…it’s a contradiction…it was always meant to be a contradiction), and he believes in her potential, in who she could become, at a time in her life when she’s not getting that kind of affirmation from anyone, and when she can’t see her own worth at all by herself.

And he’s not just putting her on and feeding her lines for the sex. It’s real. Which is what makes this whole thing so *painfully* fucked up for everyone involved, and what will keep her head turned around about this relationship for years, because she’ll never quite be able to believe that he was just an asshole. That’s the other thing this story was about. It’s about that most painful growing-up lesson of all. that good people do horrible things. That real love really can REALLY hurt.

So anyway, you can see the downward spiral. The whole thing was an exercise in masochism for everyone involved. Including me, because writing that kind of angst isn’t really fun. For me, anyway.

The sort of emotional turning point when they finally realize and sort of freely admit that they’re in love was meant to be the first time they have anal sex. I had written part of that already:

…………………………………………

“I’m a little nervous.”

The girl seemed more than a little. She jittered around the kitchen, avoiding his eyes, and when he touched her, she jolted skittishly. She was hardly the brazen little chit of the last several weeks.

“Buffy. Pet.” When she still refused to turn his way, he turned her himself, backing her against the kitchen counter. Stepped in close and lifted her chin with two fingers until her eyes met his. “We can call this particular idea off, if you’ve changed your mind. I never want to make you do something you’re not sure of.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “No. No, I’m sure. I want to. I’m just…a little. Scared? I’ve just heard that it hurts too much, the first time.”

Spike studied her. “You’ve liked the toys, yeah?”

A naughty little smile bloomed on her face, in contrast with her blush. “Yeah. The toys are very much of the good.”

“Yeah, I know they were,” he purred, moving closer to kiss her throat. His mind flickered back to their last bondage session and he groaned, rubbing himself against her before remembering he had a point.

“A lot of people, kitten, they don’t know what they’re about, yeah? Bloke sees an anal porno or twelve and he convinces his girl, and they jump right to it without much preparation. With women, it’s best if you build up to it…not just in one night. Fingers, toys….”

“And we’ve been doing that,” she murmured, understanding softening her tense face.

“Mmmhhmmm.” Buffy relaxed against him now, and her mouth yielded when he kissed her. When he finally eased back, he couldn’t fight back the teasing smile. “So really, you should be grateful you’re fucking such a knowledgeable sex god as myself, and getting down on your knees in worship of one so kind and benevolent and amazing in the sack….”

She lit up with laughter, smacking him in the shoulder. “I don’t know about sex god. Minor diety, maybe.”

“Mmm. Well as long as I have my own temple, I suppose that’s alright then. Don’t need all those silly sods traipsing to and fro anyway: O Mighty Spike, how do I pleasure my bint? O Merciful One, where might I find the clitoris? Bloody exhausting, that. More time for the important things this way.”

“Important things? Do tell.”

Buffy’s body was loose and warm with laughter, eyes bright now. Spike dipped his head to worship her neck, hands slipping around her to press her closer. She shuddered when his hand worked down the back of her panties, middle finger pressing against her hole. His tongue worked over her ear as he pushed through the resistance, tight ring of muscle clinging tenaciously to his fingertip.

Oh, Christ, he was hard.

“Like taking excellent care of this. Going to be so brilliant, luv, I swear. Might even bump me up from the minor category, when we’re all said and done.”

Buffy laughed weakly against him. “Well, when you put it like that…what are we waiting for?”

~*~*~*~*~

[er, stuff I never wrote]

Spike eased himself inside, so slowly he was barely moving. Even after all their play, her muscles squeezed at him fitfully. Buffy was making soft noises of discomfort, and he wrapped her up tighter in his arms.

He came to a halt, buried deep. Fuck, she was so small. It was too good, and he was shaking just a bit as he pressed a kiss onto the damp skin of her shoulder. He breathed in hot puffs of air across her skin, hand stroking her lower belly.

“How are you, luv?”

There were a few moments of quiet breathing before she answered. “I’m not…bad. But I’m definitely still waiting for the brilliant part.”

Spike chuckled, strained, petting the body molded against his front. They fit together so tight—everywhere, not just his cock. “Yeah…suppose I’m the only one getting ‘brilliant’ as yet.”

Buffy turned her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile tugging at her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, face a tangle of hope and insecurity. Pretty girl. “That good, huh?”

A joke was on the tip of his tongue, just a bit of teasing to put her at ease, but he found himself swallowing it, unable. Instead he cupped her face and turned it farther towards him, not willing to close his eyes right away as he met her for a kiss. The sweet rub of lips built into something deeper as he stroked his hands over her body. Buffy’s skin was a little slick with exertion, soft, and the pleading little noise she made as she melted and relaxed tugged at his chest.

Spike reckoned he’d never understand how one tiny girl could make him feel so foolish and desperate.

………………………………

so yeah. and by that time, they’re too deep in it to say “it was never supposed to go this far” and walk away. And in a lot of ways, this turn of events makes things a hell of a lot worse, because now Spike really *is* sneaking around. he feels like a liar, and part of him really doesn’t care. You can justify anything when the motivation is big enough.

And then comes the breaking point. For Buffy, I guess the breaking point is when it becomes clear that this is wrong and in no way good for her, and for Spike, I’d say that the breaking point is the same. Realizing how very badly this whole thing has fucked with Buffy’s head…remembering that she’s just a girl. It was supposed to spring from daddykink. Just a spontaneous thing. The kink had been growing, so when Spike busts out with something in the middle of sex, it doesn’t seem shocking, really. Sex between them has always been pretty dirty and intense. Buffy just sort of goes with it, and it’s hot. But then afterwards…ok, we remember that she has big issues with her father right? This is just post-divorce. She pretty much has a nervous breakdown because woah and what was that, and how could she get *off* on that, and it all feels a little too literal even though he’s been anything *but* an actual father figure to her.

And yeah, that’s when Spike has the blood-draining-from-face, ‘holy shit, what the fuck have I been thinking’ moment of clarity.

And he ends it. me and my beta had long conversations about who ended it, him or her, and in the end I decided it had to be him. two reasons. If you remember being a teenage girl in love, you don’t let go for anything as long as those feelings are still there. I really don’t think Buffy would end it, even with how painful it’s gotten. She’d pick herself up, dust herself off and convince herself it was ok. And I think it could drag on like that for quite a while. Just like Angel had to leave Sunnydale, Spike has to be the one to end it. second reason is that Spike is the grownup here, it’s so much easier to see him as theeee perpetrator of this whole wrong thing, and if he ends it, it’s a kind of redemption for him. in a lot of ways, like Chosen was in canon. In As5 when it becomes clear that hell is trying to claim him, we see that his sacrifice was too little too late (arguably), but he makes it anyway, and that redeems him to *us*.

And I really never saw Spike leaving Drusilla. That’s just canon. He would never ever leave her. I firmly believe that, and I could never go there with that story. His fidelity of sorts is one of my favorite traits about him.

So he ends it. and she’s, of course, a mess. Crushed. They have another little while where she’s still working there, and they maybe have a moment where they come to some sort of tentative peace. Not really, but it’s that impossible lets-be-friends goodwill thing that *everyone* in a breakup tries to do way too soon.

She goes home and school starts again. She doesn’t date anyone. He can’t stop thinking about her. He calls her drunk on New Year’s Eve and does that stupid drunk-ex thing that guys sometimes do.

And Buffy hangs up on him without a word. Because now that she’s had distance, *she* had to do that. for herself.

And then there would have been a big “the end” and I would have run and hid from all the shippers because holy shit, I did the unthinkable and ended it in the worst, most angsty place possible, haha. Because I am Satan.

And then there was the epilogue (which makes it better)


	14. Epilogue (draft)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this would have undergone some serious revision before I posted it, because I’m not at all satisfied and it’s all stilted and well…badly written, honestly, but it gives you the idea and tone I was going for.

“Daaaaad!” Jackson sighed dramatically, rolling not just his eyes but his whole head, long dark hair flopping wildly.

Spike concealed a smile. “We’re meant to be picking out school clothes. Want to look good for all the cute little chits this fall, don’t you?”

Color stained Jackson’s cheeks, but he pretended to be indifferent to the idea. “One hour? Just _one hour_ at the arcade.”

Spike sighed. He himself needed a break. The boy wore him out, these days. “Fine,” he conceded. When his son started a mad dash toward the arcade before the word was even out of his mouth, Spike laughed.

“Jack!” he called. Looking put upon, Jackson turned around. “One hour. I mean it.” He smiled ruefully and shook his head at the stubborn resignation in his son’s gait.

“Jack, huh?”

Surprised, Spike turned around to address the amused voice coming from behind him. He stopped short in his tracks, as his whole world tilted dizzily.

It was Buffy. His Buffy, only…not. It had been a lifetime. Her face was thinner now with adulthood, and she looked cool and poised, grinning at him wryly. He felt strange and out of sorts, seeing her in the flesh.

Spike found his voice. “Yeah, he won’t abide being called Jackson now.” His heart was racing. It had been…god, twelve years? So long.

She laughed. “Well, imagine a child of yours rejecting his given name. William.”

He grinned and ducked his head. “Don’t remember telling you that.”

Buffy continued to smile at him, good-humored, straight on. “You did. I always paid close attention to every word that came out of your mouth.” She said it without heat or embarrassment. As if it were just a throw-away comment she hadn’t dwelled much on, a silly crush of youth that was fondly mused over.

He was the only one that felt like shit.

“Buffy—” So many things he _could_ say. I’m sorry. I still want you. I think about you often. The only regret in my life bigger than the way I treated you was the fact that I had to let you go. They all stuck in his throat.

Buffy seemed to understand his dilemma. She changed the subject. “So, he must be a handful now.”

Spike snorted. “Mum always said I’d have children as difficult as I was. Old bird cursed me.” She laughed, and he grinned crookedly at her, unaccountably nervous. “No, he’s a good boy. Just at that age, you know? Likes to test me constantly. Suppose I’ve got years of that coming.”

“Yeah,” she agreed politely. “So, how’s Dru?”

Spike looked at her for a long time before he dropped his gaze to his shuffling feet. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Dru left me. Going on five years ago.”

At her silence, he looked back up. Wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to gloat. But her face was nearly neutral, if a little on the side of pitying.

She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, I know you cared for her a great deal.”

“Yeah…well….” He scratched the back of his head. He didn’t really know what to say to that. “She gave me custody of the boy. Still sees him weekends, sometimes.”

Buffy nodded. “Of course.”

There was an awkward pause. He couldn’t get over how…bloody gorgeous she was. Poised and smooth and beautiful…magnanimous. Everything he’d always suspected she could be, given enough stability and happiness and the freedom of adulthood. Spike suspected he’d loved that nascent, unspoiled potential as much as he’d ever loved the girl herself.

“Did you take him on the book tour this summer?”

“Pardon? Yeah, I—” Spike stopped, processing something. “You follow my career?” He was shocked that she’d want anything to do with him.

She looked at him levelly. The bashful girl was nowhere to be found. “For years, I didn’t. But I started reading your stuff again, recently.”

His heart thudded hard. “Have you read—”

“The one about me?” He nodded. That’s what it amounted to, anyway. “Yeah. I did.”

Spike was about to jump out of his skin when that’s all she said. He couldn’t just ask her what she thought, whether she’d gotten the message he’d been trying to send her, in a roundabout way. He’d still been with Drusilla when it had been published, but he had wanted Buffy to know, how hard the whole thing had been for him too. That he hadn’t been left unaffected, as she might have thought. But he’d promised himself to stay out of her life and let her get on with it. So he’d written it all down.

“It was good,” she said finally, and he felt an understanding pass between them.

Buffy watched as Spike gaped for words. It was so funny to see him like this, flustered and nervous at seeing her. He used to be so…unruffled. Larger than life. But here he was, just a guy, who looked like he’d fall over if she looked at him wrong. It was validation she would have _paid_ for, during the bitter years.

By the time she’d gotten around to picking up a copy of Yesterday’s Girl, the bitter years were long past. All she’d known was that it was his most highly acclaimed book yet. She had been surprised to find all of the feelings she’d suspected that Spike had had, and the ones she’d later parsed out with her therapist, laid bare in print. For others, it was a touching piece of fiction. For Buffy, it was the closure she had needed to loosen the last knots of confusion and pain and forgive him.

Maybe forgive wasn’t accurate. But she’d let it go. She’d finally let it go. He’d done the best he could, and it turned out that wasn’t actually very well. He’d paid for it, apparently.

She wondered if the years he’d dropped off the map of horror writing coincided with the divorce. She’d bet money that it did.

Spike seemed to shift gears, unable to formulate his thoughts about his love story to her. “So what are you up to, then? Must be in the world of the working stiffs, by now.” He smirked halfheartedly.

“I just launched my own kickboxing studio. I’m now officially drowning in debt.” Buffy laughed easily.

Spike looked surprised and ecstatic by turns. “You’re kidding! Oh, Buffy, pet….” He stumbled over the endearment, a little awkwardness creeping into his easy excitement. “That’s just great. You always had a knack for teaching. I’d hoped you’d ended up doing something of that sort.”

He grinned at her, and Buffy’s heart squeezed at his obvious well wishes.

“Yeah. I taught for a long time, but this was a pretty big step. It makes me a little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said with complete confidence. “Always thought you were capable of running the bloody world.”

The admission ached in a pleasant way. They just stood looking at each other for a long time, as the crowds of the mall rushed around them.

“I’m so sorry, pet,” he suddenly blurted. “For everything. Though I’m not sorry about cutting you loose, for you to end up well and happy, as you obviously are.”

“It’s ok, Spike. You can let it go. I did.”

His forehead bunched in confusion. “How can you be so…. Why don’t you hate me?”

“I did,” she said simply. He cringed, and she let him. “But then I stopped.”

Spike was silent, seeming to process that for a long time. “Thank you,” he said finally to his shoes.

“Thank my therapist,” Buffy joked. “She’s a rich woman, thanks to me.”

Spike’s mouth quirked up at one corner, and the smile eventually spilled over into a chuckle. He looked back towards the mall’s arcade.

“Look, I’ve got to…. No telling what he’s getting into, in there.” He struggled with something. “Can we get coffee sometime?”

It struck her that she didn’t have an automatic opinion about the possibility. She had to dig for it. She’d thought of him so rarely, these last few years, had been amused and nostalgic to see him standing in the middle of the mall, talking to a recalcitrant teenager she assumed was his son.

So she had to think about the question. Spike wriggled like a worm on a hook when she didn’t answer right away.

Ten years ago, she would have thrown her pride to the wind and said yes in a heartbeat, hoping morbidly that the invitation meant more than it possibly could. Five or six years ago, she would have laughed in his face and told him to go to hell. But now….

“Just coffee. No funny stuff?”

She dead-panned it, and to her amusement, Spike turned bright red and began to stutter. “I…I mean…of course, I just wanted to…it’s been a long time…since I’ve seen you, that is, and I just wanted to—”

“I was joking,” she informed him wryly.

He stopped, still looking stiff. “Oh. Well….”

“Let’s do it.”

It was endearingly awkward, the exchange of phone numbers. He looked so uncomfortable, and once again she marveled at what the passage of time could do for perspective.

Their parting was stilted…nearly a hug, nearly a handshake, but in the end they just smiled.

And the crowds swallowed them up as they walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, I hope that gave some people some closure, and that you enjoyed it, or something. I feel a little pang that this story never got written. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive and encouraging with this story since the beginning.
> 
> Special super-duper lovey-dovey thanks to my beta on this fic, goddessofmercy. You don’t understand how many HOURS we have spent yakking about this fic. she put in some serious, heavy-weight time with me on this, and was instrumental in the development of the plot. It was such a pleasure working with her and getting to know her. You’re a class act, honey, and I wish everyone in fandom had the pleasure of making your acquaintance :)


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